Cold Spirits
by AdmiralCats
Summary: (Bad Company: Book 10) When a lethal silver flower is found in Hicks's gear, the last thing Drake wants to do is put his life on hold again in order to find out who put it there and why. The daunting task, however, seems to be the perfect opportunity to see if he's really making progress with himself, and whether or not he can prove his worth to others.
1. Chapter 1

A wilting silver flower looks like crinkled aluminum foil, with small brown spots. It was dimly lighting the inside of Hicks's duffel bag, and you could see its noxious fumes rising ever so slowly. I took a step back, pulling my shirt up over my nose and mouth. My heart was hammering against my ribs as I remembered that dark laboratory on the space station, lit only by rows upon rows of these tiny little demon plants.

Hicks looked at me, gray-green eyes red and watery from exposure to the flower. "Don't just stand there, Drake, we need to get it out of here!"

"I'm not touching it! I can't!" I shouted over the memories playing out in my brain. I could hear the glass door shattering as Doctor Delhoun busted into the lab to get me out. I could hear the voices from my hallucinations. I could feel my throat and my chest tightening. I felt like someone had their hands wrapped tightly around my neck.

I really couldn't breathe.

I scrambled to get out of the room, and fell into the hallway as a result. Unable to take the tension anymore, my stomach lurched, and I started throwing up on the clean floor. I was a good distance away from the flower, but the stink of acid mixed with everything I had for breakfast wasn't much better.

Hicks had to step over me as he left the room, staggering as he jogged to Apone's office. Unfortunately, he barely got two words out when his knees buckled, and he collapsed in the doorway to vomit. Either he was effected by the flower, or he was one of those people who puke if they see someone else puke. I hoped it was the latter.

"Not even home an hour and already shit's going down?!" Apone stormed out of his office to see me half-outside Hicks's room, over a disgusting puddle of vomit. "Of course, you're involved, Drake."

I coughed. "Hey, Sarge."

"What the hell's going on? Do I even need to ask?"

"There's a silver flower in Hicks's gear bag. Don't go in there."

Apone peered in the doorway, seeing the faint fumes emanating from the bag. "I'll go get Bishop. Get your ass up, Drake."

* * *

I wasn't that surprised that Hicks and I still felt nauseated that evening. At least, for me it was a combination of I got violently ill several hours ago, and I'm not so sure my body's ready for me to go back to eating bland rations. Hicks being equally queasy was a perfect cover for me to not look like I was too good to be eating the Goddamn cornbread.

Hudson and I both spent about a week with Delhoun at his Annexer rehab facility because we're not able to go into cryosleep until we're cleared of the silver flower toxin. To sum it up, we ate pretty good there. However, Hudson was wolfing down his cornbread and ham (which tastes like it's been soaking in saltwater) like it was just plain old Cheerios and milk.

"How do you not feel at all sick?" I asked, trying to suppress a gag.

Hudson shrugged, and muttered something incomprehensible with his mouth full.

Apone was, naturally, not impressed with Hudson's lack of table manners. "I was about to say that we missed you, Hudson, but I'm changing my mind."

Unable to stop his laughter, Hudson spit cornbread all over his tray. Next to him, Hicks was shaking his head, still looking pale from his ordeal earlier today. I know Delhoun said that one silver flower doesn't do much, but I wondered if a rotting one was much more dangerous. That also depended on how much of the fumes Hicks had breathed in. It can't have been that much, but I could hear rasping and mucus popping with every breath he took, almost like he had a chest cold.

At least Bishop was able to remove the flower, but as a safety precaution, we had to burn Hicks's bag. He lost five shirts, five pairs of shorts, four pairs of underwear, four pairs of socks, and the USCM technical manual, all of which Apone offered to replace. As a joke, I offered to give Hicks my technical manual, and Apone said, "Why? Because you've memorized every single page? We all know how much you enjoy reading it."

"The only time he reads anything is when he's in the bathroom," Dietrich said, without looking up from her tray, "and I don't think he reads the tech manual."

"Well, you're right; I don't read the tech manual," I replied. "I read the labels on all my medicine bottles because I generally don't bring reading material in the bathroom. That's only if I'm slow. In boot camp, we had to be fast when it came to using the latrine. You could never sit there and really enjoy the feeling of losing a good five pounds."

"Alright, that's enough, Drake!" Apone shouted. "I don't want to hear anymore bathroom talk outta any of you."

"Sorry, sir," I mumbled. "I take it you didn't miss me, either?"

Hudson grinned. "Yeah, Sarge, who'd you miss more? Me or Drake?"

Apone glared at him. "I didn't miss either of you. Shut your trap and eat your chow before I put your face in it."

Hicks gave a forceful, wet cough. I was the only one who glanced at him, but I didn't ask if he was alright. _He'll be fine. It was one flower._

Actually, I wasn't the only one who looked at Hicks. Hudson glanced at him and said, "If you're not gonna eat, can I have your tray?"

* * *

Being thrown back into routine didn't have the bittersweet feeling I was expecting it to have. In fact, it was more bitter than sweet, and I was experiencing some déja vu; much like when I returned from D.C., everyone was perfectly content with resuming treating me like garbage. It's something I should be used to, but there are too many things on my mind for me to just take it and sling it back like I've done in the past. I mean, it's not anyone's fault that they don't know what's going on inside my head, and I don't want them to know, period.

 _You still have no idea if you're suffering from PTSD._ I sighed as I got in the shower, letting myself sink into the depths of my brain. Any idiot who looked through my journals would notice that in the span of time between going to Delhoun's and coming back, I didn't really mention my fear of having post-traumatic stress. I had flashbacks and put myself in situations that made me feel like I was back on that orbital hospital, but I never had a deep conversation with myself about whether or not I have PTSD. My guess is that . . . I put it on the backburner. With Delhoun, I'm OK with telling him how I feel. I actually feel like I'm making progress when I'm with Delhoun (or anyone else who gives a damn, for that matter), but now that I'm back with my squad, I'm shoving all that progress back down my throat. Why? I'm not comfortable with exposing myself to them, except for Vasquez.

And maybe- _maybe_ -Hudson.

I've never really talked to Hudson about the possibility of having PTSD. I'm not sure I want to. I'm not even sure if our relationship is going to remain the same. Now that we're back in the swing of things, is he going to revert back to being loud and obnoxious? Is he going to throw away all that we've done for each other? There's only one way to find out.

When I finished my shower, I pulled on a pair of shorts before going next door to Hudson's room. I could hear the water running as I knocked, and then heard Hudson yell, "Hang on, man, I'm almost done!" The water turned off, the shower door opened and closed, and a towel was yanked from a rack. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he muttered. The door opened, and Hudson stared at me with a towel wrapped around his waist. "Hey, Drake. What's up?"

I took a breath. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure, man. Come on in. Here, sit on the bed, and I'll go get dressed." Hudson disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. "Something wrong?"

"I . . . don't know, to be honest. It's just . . . something that's been bothering me for a few weeks."

Hudson emerged from the bathroom, wearing shorts and a green T-shirt. He dropped his dogtags on top of the dresser, and said, "About the flowers?"

"Connects to them, yeah. Remember how . . . Hicks brought up post-traumatic stress disorder a few days before he and the others left, and how he wanted us to say something if we felt like we were having a problem?"

"Yeah."

I bit my lip, wondering if this was a good idea. "Well, I'm . . . I'm afraid . . . that . . . I have PTSD."

Hudson clearly wasn't sure what to say to that. He sat on the bed, and put his arm around my shoulder. "How come you didn't say anything before?"

"Because I could get kicked out of the Marines. At the time, I really didn't want to admit to Hicks that I have a problem. It's . . . not that difficult for me to suddenly feel like I can't breathe. I know you were having a similar issue, but . . . you're dealing with it better than me."

He nodded. "Yeah, I've noticed the nightmares have kinda gone away. They're not gone-gone, but they're not happening every single night. I took your advice, man; I'm pushing against it uphill, but I'm pushing it."

I sighed. "Why are you dealing with it better than me?"

"I dunno. Maybe it's because I'm not carrying so much emotional weight on my head."

"Makes sense." I fell silent after that, suddenly feeling a little nervous.

"I take it you don't want me to say anything?"

"Exactly."

"Then, I promise I won't say anything. I'll leave that up to you." Hudson grinned, patting my shoulder. "Did you ever get a chance to talk to Hicks?"

"No. I should probably go do that." I stood up, unable to understand why I didn't feel much better. I guess being reminded that Hicks didn't keep his promise (though, to be fair, it wasn't his choice) increased the weight I felt on my shoulders. "See you in the morning, Hudson."

As I headed down to Hicks's room, I could hear him coughing, and although there was a part of me that doubted the rotting flower was serious, I also felt like he was in a lot of trouble. What made it worse was that once I entered the room, I realized that the whole place needed to be sanitized after the flower had released its deadly toxins; I could smell something rather sickly sweet. The air was heavy and somewhat humid. Hicks was sitting up in bed, and then I didn't have a doubt in my mind that wilting flower had done some damage. He was about as pale as Delhoun, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"Drake," Hicks said, struggling to maintain a calm composure. "I need to get to sick bay." He drew in a ragged breath. "I can't walk, I'm . . . I'm gonna faint."

I lifted him out of bed, and carried him to sick bay. He was very warm, and hot sweat was running down his face. Again, I had this feeling like I had done this before. _Oh, yeah, I've done this with Hudson._

* * *

I stood outside the room, watching through a window while Bishop and several corpsmen tried to get Hicks breathing regularly again. The good thing was that his heart was fine; they didn't have to bust out the defibrillators like with me and Hudson. Despite that, I was anxious, and my mind kept sending me back to the orbital hospital station. My anxiety morphed into nausea, and I began slowly making my way back to my room, where I lay down in bed and tried to endure the waves in my stomach.

The best way I can describe how I felt is this: it was like I was on a small boat on the ocean, and it wouldn't stop rocking, even for a second. Combined with that were the awful memories associated with the silver flower. Why did I have to watch someone else get sick because of it? First Hudson, and now Hicks. Was it pure coincidence? Poor luck? Or was someone gunning for every Marine in this unit?

Wait.

When Hudson was poisoned, it was a complete accident. With Hicks, that damn flower was in his bag. Obviously, Hicks didn't put it there. Someone else did, and I highly doubt it was someone in this unit. As my thoughts began focusing on why the flower was in the bag, the nauseous waves began to calm. I forced myself to stand up, and left the room to find Vasquez. Maybe she could tell me if she saw something suspicious while they were on the Moon.

I was baffled to see she wasn't in her room. We had over an hour left until lights-out, and it wasn't like her to wander around with no good reason. After a few minutes of searching, I found her in the armory. Her smartgun was on the floor, and the piece that connects the weapon to the armored chestplate was also on the floor, but snapped in two. Vasquez was sitting on the bench, covering her face. She hurt her left shoulder while on the Moon with the others, and although it was just a sprain, she couldn't do much of anything. I noticed her sling was off, and laying next to her. Closing the armory door, I walked over, and was about to ask what happened when I saw she was crying.

Vasquez glanced at me, and breathed a sigh of relief. "Jesus, I don't know what I would've done if it hadn't been you who walked in, Drake."

I decided to start with an obvious question. "What . . . happened here?"

Sniffing and swallowing past a lump in her throat, Vasquez went back to covering her face. She sobbed before answering. "I thought I could pick it up."

"Your smartgun?"

She nodded. "I thought I could just . . . push past the discomfort, but . . . I can't."

I sat next to her. "Are you OK? You didn't hurt yourself further, did you?"

"No. I dropped it before that could happen, and look." She gestured to the connecting piece with her boot. "It broke when I let go of the gun." She took a breath. "God, Apone's gonna scold me for breaking equipment, and Dietrich's gonna scold me for trying to lift something I shouldn't."

I picked up the sling, trying to think of a good response. "Here. Let me put this back on you." I was a little surprised Vasquez let me help her back into the sling. "Why'd you think you could push past this?"

"I don't want to sit and do nothing for three weeks! I can't! I don't want to feel like I'm back in prison!"

I nodded a little while adjusting the Velcro on the sling. "I get it. It's OK to feel that way. Trust me, I've had that same feeling for the last several weeks. Why didn't you just say something?"

"Because I'm going to be told that I just have to sit and wait and worry about recovering."

I put my arms around her, and pulled her close to me. "Well, were you expecting something different?"

"Not really."

"It's either you wait, or you push yourself too hard and your hurt yourself to the point where you could get discharged." I kissed her cheek. "I know you, and I know that's the absolute last thing you want."

More tears rolled down Vasquez's face. She didn't say anything, but I had the feeling she was glad I was there, listening to her and holding her. No one else could've comforted her like me. No one else could've comforted her, period.

We sat there in silence for a few minutes. I then nuzzled her forehead, and whispered, "Let's go to bed, and worry about this in the morning, OK?"

She nodded, but had me put her smartgun back on its rack. "Let's put the connector piece in my locker. No one'll know."

"And what's gonna happen when you need to use it and don't have time to get a new piece?" I asked. "Leave it where it is, and we'll worry about this tomorrow."

* * *

I woke up fairly early in the morning, and realized Vasquez must've had a restless night; I was covered in marks from where she had jabbed me with her elbow or squeezed me a little too hard, not to mention we had stopped cuddling at some point after we drifted off to sleep.

"Hey," I whispered, shaking her awake. "Good morning."

Vasquez stretched before reaching up to put her arm around my neck. "'Morning."

"Did you sleep OK? You were tossing and turning a lot."

"I was fine, Drake. How about you?"

"For my first night back, I slept pretty good." I looked towards the door. "I think you better get going before everyone else wakes up."

"Yeah." Vasquez sat up, then kissed me. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For . . . trying to help me last night."

"You're welcome, then." I smirked. "I love you."

Vasquez looked like she wanted to smirk back, but resisted that urge. She got up, and left the room, glancing over her shoulder at me before going next door to her own bedroom.

Once the door was closed, I decided to get dressed. All the while, I had the feeling that there was more to the story than just "she wants to push past the pain in order to not feel useless." I don't know how early on in the mission she hurt her shoulder, and I think the timing of it all has something to do with it. Plus, she got hurt and had to wait almost a week before seeing me again. I can imagine it was difficult finding someone who'd listen the way I do, unless she didn't even try. If that was the case, I needed to be extra nice to her, because I certainly wouldn't want to be ignored or neglected if I got hurt and had to wait to see someone I loved again.

Oh, wait, haven't I done that multiple times already?

Almost an hour later, we were called down to the mess hall for breakfast. It was a little strange that we didn't see Hicks there, but the table didn't have an empty spot; sitting near Apone was Doctor Hornby, who looked completely exhausted. His typically neat hair was messed up and sticking out in certain places, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He offered a weak smile when he saw me, and gestured for me to come over after I got my tray.

I was handed a tray with a single waffle, a pitifully small cup of syrup, and two sausage links, with milk that I knew was in powder form a half-hour ago. Sighing with disappointment, I sat across from Hornby, who was holding a cup of coffee. Before saying anything to me, he gave Hudson the same gesture, and waited for him to sit down.

"Lemme guess," I said, "you were called because of Hicks."

"Exactly," Hornby replied. "Do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

"Um . . . good news."

"Well, the good news is that Hicks is alive. The bad news is that he needs to be sent overseas."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Hudson go pale. "To D.C.?" I asked.

Hornby nodded. "Don't panic, please. I can assure you he'll be treated immediately. Now, Bishop said it was a rotting silver flower that you found in Hicks's gear bag?"

"Yeah. Is that just as bad as a living one?"

"Bad, if not worse. When the plant dies, it expels its fumes all at once. Mixed with bacteria, it's just as dangerous. Hicks is lucky he didn't put his face that close to it. The best we can do is get him to Washington as soon as possible, while I work on a stronger medication."

I frowned. "'Stronger' means 'more Annexer hormones,' right? That means he could become more aggressive than Hudson."

"I'm glad you expressed that concern, Drake. Delhoun's coming with us-"

"Wait, ' _us_?'"

"Yes. I want you and Hudson to accompany me and Delhoun."

"You didn't say anything about taking them away." Apone glared at Hornby.

"It shouldn't be for that long. It's bad enough I have to take Hicks away, and I'd rather have him wake up surrounded by people he's familiar with than with nobody he's familiar with, especially in a strange place."

I sighed. "I don't want to be separated from here again."

"You don't have to make a decision right now. I'm meeting Delhoun for lunch later on, if you two would like to come and talk about this."  
I glanced at Hudson. "Sure. We'll . . . We'll come and talk."

* * *

Neither of us could argue that Hornby had a good point when it came to why he wanted me and Hudson to go with him and Hicks, but the one question still on my mind was how and why a dying silver flower ended up in his duffel bag. Again, there's no way that any of the Marines in this squad did it, so that left two other options: someone working in the Weyland-Yutani complex on the Moon, or one of the Marines that replaced me and Hudson. I doubted it was either of the Marines, but what would someone from Weyland-Yutani have to gain from poisoning Hicks? In the big picture of things, he wasn't that important. Then again, someone might have a personal bone to pick with him over something in the past, but Hicks doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who'd piss someone off.

However, that doesn't mean that somebody hasn't misinterpreted his intentions. I could've been that somebody if I wasn't lost in my head all the time, but I don't think I'd go so far as to want to kill or seriously hurt him.

After breakfast and morning exercises, I headed to sick bay to see how Hicks was doing. The corpsman in charge wasn't too keen on removing the breathing mask, but I insisted it was only for a few minutes. Once the mask was taken off, I was left alone. I wanted to ask about when we would have a chance to talk about our problems, but that wasn't something that would take less than five minutes. I couldn't push Hicks, but I didn't want to wait. A familiar and horrid voice in my head told me that, once again, this was all my fault.

"What do you need, Drake?" Hicks asked.

Every word was stuck in my throat. What did I want to say? I couldn't remember what I was going to say when I came in here? How fucking hard was it to say "How're you feeling?" Somehow, I couldn't do it. The voice screaming that this was my fault kept pummeling the inside of my head, preventing me from developing a rational thought. Instead, I broke. Tears rapidly choked me, and I hung my head, my body racking with every sob.

Hicks didn't say anything further. I wasn't sure if he was confused or concerned, but I felt him touch my shoulder.

I guess whether or not that means something is up to you.

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: Is Hornby making a good point with his reason for why Drake and Hudson should accompany him to Washington? Given Drake's history, would going back be a mentally healthy move for him?_

 _Author's Note: This is the first time I've really dove right into the action of a plot in the first few sentences of a story, but it was kinda necessary because the last book ended on a cliffhanger. I'm surprised that this chapter was fun to work on, but I hope the introduction of multiple conflicts and subplots doesn't make it feel overwhelming. The goal is for Drake to feel overwhelmed, not the reader. Enjoy - Cat._


	2. Chapter 2

I think regret is significantly more toxic than a room full of silver flowers. It never goes away. It just lingers for a long, long time. No matter what you do, it's always there.

That's what I felt when I was dragged out of Hicks's room. Instant regret. Just instant regret and sheer anger at myself for not being able to speak up. I didn't know what to do after being pushed out of sick bay; I certainly couldn't go back in, because the corpsmen didn't want Hicks's breathing mask off for more than a few minutes. God only knows how long it's going to be before Hornby has to ship him off to D.C.

 _How hard is it to ask if this means he broke his promise to me?_ I thought. I didn't want this weighing on my mind. I didn't want to be constantly in the dark about whether or not Hicks's promise that we would talk was broken. I'm already in the dark about having PTSD, because I can't bring myself to tell someone that I feel like I need help.

The feeling of failure was looming over me again. It was futile to try and escape it. When I returned to my room, I locked myself in the bathroom, and stared into the mirror. "I'm a failure," I said, softly, to myself. "That's it. Everything I do . . . I just can't do anything right." I'm not entirely sure why I thought talking to myself was a good idea. It obviously wasn't going to do anything. Maybe it was an involuntary coping mechanism. Either way, it made me look stupid, but, that's what I am at the end of the day: stupid.

I had no faith in myself, but I knew that standing in the bathroom and repeatedly telling myself I was a complete moron wasn't going to improve my life in the long run. When I left the room, I looked around for Vasquez, and found she was in the armory with Apone and Dietrich, holding the broken smartgun connector piece.

". . . You're lucky that this was the only thing that broke," Apone was saying.

"And that you didn't damage your shoulder further," Dietrich added. "You're better than this, Vasquez, why'd you try to do something you know you can't do right now?"

Vasquez didn't reply right away. She wasn't even making eye contact with either of them.

"Answer her, Private," Apone ordered.

"I don't want to feel useless. That's all."

"You will be useless if you hurt yourself again," Dietrich said. "I'm not saying that to be mean. I'm saying that because we don't want you to permanently damage your shoulder."

"I know, I know. I'll get discharged."

"So don't-"

" _I know!_ Jesus Christ, you only need to say it once! I won't try to pick up another smartgun, now can you please leave me alone?!"

Apone folded his arms over his chest, then pointed at Vasquez. "Laundry duty, two weeks. And go clean the pool."

Vasquez pushed past me as she stormed down to the pool, and I decided to follow her. Even when she slammed the locker room door shut in my face, I went right into the pool chamber, and waited by the supply closet. She was clearly unimpressed with me when she came out of the girls' locker room and saw I hadn't gone away, so she backhanded me across the face, hard. "I don't want to talk to you, either, Drake!"

"And why's that?" I asked, rubbing my left cheek.

"I don't want to see anyone or talk to anyone for awhile. Just leave."

"Sweetheart, I understand how you're-"

"Don't 'sweetheart' me, dammit! What part of 'get out' don't you understand?! I want to be left alone! I just want to be ignored until I can take this fucking sling off!"

"You don't want that."

"Yes, I do!"

"Honey, no. Trust me."

"God, Drake, you're so thickheaded I couldn't crack your skull open if I tried!"

"Will you just tell me why you're so upset?"

"No!"

I shrugged. "OK." With that, I pushed open the glass doors leading back out into the hallway, and then paused to pretend to tie my boots.

A few seconds later, I heard Vasquez say, "Drake . . . come back, please?"

Standing up, I turned to go back into the pool. "What? I thought you wanted to be alone."

She bit her lip. "I changed my mind. Actually, no, I'm making an exception for you. That's it."

"Aww, really?" I grinned.

"Don't make me change my mind again."

I sat by the water, waiting for Vasquez to get the pool vacuum from the supply closet. She carried it over her shoulder, set it in the water, and then went back to the closet to grab the filter. Neither of those are easy to carry with only one arm, but at least Vasquez is right-handed. She cursed as she struggled to turn the vacuum tube into the filter, and then tried to stabilize the vacuum with her leg. Sighing, I reached over to hold the vacuum, and Vasquez gave me a dirty look.

"I was doing fine," she said.

"You were trying to hold the thing with your leg," I replied. "You weren't doing fine, but your shaving is looking fine today. I'm guessing you got the good razors instead of the issued ones? You never look this smooth when you use-"

"Drake."

"Yeah?"

"Shut the fuck up. Your compliments aren't helping today."

"Right. Sorry, sweetheart. Although, speaking of smooth limbs, you wanna hear a funny story from when Hudson and I were with Delhoun?"

Vasquez looked at me. "Do I really want to?"

"Well, I dunno. We really haven't talked to each other about what happened while we were apart."

"You didn't have to fake-date another woman, did you?"

"No, thank God."

"Alright, what's the story?"

To the best of my ability, I told Vasquez about the night I had to find Hudson when he wandered off into Brisbane, and we ended up getting into a fight with some guys outside a bar. ". . . The morning after we got back from the hospital, I wanted to take the bandages off. I needed Hudson's help for that, and when they come off, he says, 'Your arm's as smooth as a baby's backside now.' I replied, 'That's not flattering,' and he said, 'That's a lot coming from the guy who said I should get my chest waxed.'"

Vasquez shook her head. "You're right; Hudson should get his chest waxed. He looks like he skinned a brown ferret and taped the hide down his torso."

I laughed. "I did tell him a few days before that, in the unlikely event he gets a girlfriend, she's not gonna like the feeling of petting a rough animal all the time."

"Hudson? Getting a girlfriend?" Vasquez managed to crack a smile. "Yeah, when pigs fly. Actually, pigs will fly before Hudson gets a girlfriend."

"Careful. If you say that to him, he might go out and strap a pig to a glider and say that since a pig flew, he'll get a girlfriend."

"And knowing him, that could really happen. The pig in a glider part, not the girlfriend part."

"I knew that." I was glad Vasquez was smiling a little, but I knew distracting her was only a temporary solution. Sooner or later, we would have to really get to the nuts and bolts of what was going on. All I could do was hope that she was at least feeling somewhat better, so talking to her about her problems would be a little easier.

It took her around a half-hour to clean the entire pool, and I spent the whole time telling her about what went on while Hudson and I were with Delhoun. I was honest with her about how Hudson opened up to me about some stuff that happened in his past, and I ended up telling him what I did to go to jail. I told her about how he cursed out Hicks over the phone and how we used his saliva to free a bunch of Annexers, and how he saved my life when we were held hostage in a veterinarian's waiting room. Frankly, I don't think Vasquez would've believed any of this of someone else had told her.

I was tempted to ask Vasquez what was on her mind when we left the pool, but I didn't know how to introduce that topic without it feeling so sudden. Somehow, though, I felt like I was the only person who could change a topic suddenly with Vasquez and not get punched over it. We were close to her bedroom when I said, "So . . . what's . . . bugging you right now?"

"Nothing. I feel fine," she replied.

"Oh, come on. I know that's not true."

Vasquez glared at me. "If I say I'm fine, then I'm fine."

"Honey, I'm very experienced with the 'I'm fine' façade. Please? Tell me what's going on. I know what it's like to mentally suffer and I don't want to see you going through that."

Sighing, Vasquez pushed me into the room, and shut the door. She sat on her bed, facing the window, and took a moment to compose herself. "I've tried really hard to put the past behind me. I don't want to think about prison or going back to prison. That's why I throw myself into my job. You already knew that."

"Yeah. I just don't know why you can't settle down for a little while when you're injured."

"Because sitting and doing nothing brings me back to that . . . that horrible place." She shook her head. "All I had to do was look around, and I was sorry for what I had done to end up there. I even said that to the guards, but there was nothing they could do." Tears began running down her face. "I was going to be there for the rest of my life. Y-You have no idea how grateful I was to be given this opportunity. No idea at all."

I sat next to her, and folded my hands in my lap. A lot of this was stuff I had heard before, but I was beginning to think that although I had heard it before, I was never taking it seriously. She just wanted me to listen.

"I hated everyone in there. _Everyone_. None of them were even remotely sorry for what they did. I couldn't find anyone with a shred of remorse. There was no one who could help me . . . cope or redeem myself. I just had to live with it for the rest of my life."

"And then you met me."

"And then I met you. And then we got the chance to fix everything by going off to serve. It was better than nothing."

I put my arm around her shoulder. "Be honest with me; have I . . . helped you cope at all?"

"In a way, you have." Vasquez took a deep breath. "You're sorry for what you did, but you let all your past mistakes cling to you. I don't want my mistakes to cling to me. I want to let go, and renew myself. I _have_ let go, but doing nothing brings all those memories and feelings back. Being almost useless brings those memories and feelings back."

"So, I helped you, and it's your turn to help me?"

"I guess. That's how things work." She squeezed my hand. "I'm sorry for how I was acting earlier."

"Hey, if you need to emotionally blow up, my door's always open." I hugged her tightly, and kissed her forehead. "You feel better?"

"A little, yeah."

"You're not gonna go piss off Apone?"

"I'll try not to."

"You're not gonna-"

I was interrupted by a familiar voice yelling in the room next to mine. "Aw, shit, man! Dropped my dogtags in the toilet again."

Vasquez looked up at me. "I may not piss off Apone, but we know someone who's going to in three, two . . . one."

"We can't keep replacing your Goddamn tags, Hudson!" Apone shouted from down the hall. "How'd they end up in there this time?"

"I knocked 'em off the sink," Hudson groaned.

"Fish them out and put them somewhere you won't knock them off! And close the Goddamn lid when you're done using the toilet."

I snorted with laughter. "Do you see why people fight over who gets the rooms next to Hudson's?"

"Free entertainment?" Vasquez replied. "I can see the value in that."

* * *

My original plan was to talk to Vasquez about what happened when I tried to visit Hicks. Honestly, I'm not upset at the fact that it turned into Vasquez talking to me about her problems and overall insecurity about being incapacitated for a few weeks. However, I know I can't wait to tell someone about my failure, because the longer I wait, the more my internal anger is going to fester.

An hour after my chat with Vasquez, Hudson and I were picked up by Hornby to meet up with Delhoun in order to talk about going to Washington in order to help Hicks. That's when my guilt really began to boil to the surface. As Delhoun explained that his task was to help Hornby balance the Annexer hormones in his still-experimental medication, I thought about what Hornby said that morning about how he wants us to accompany Hicks because having familiar faces around will assist his recovery mentally. I can't argue with that, and a feeling of obligation was gradually creeping up on me. Eventually, I had drowned out all conversations around me; I was thinking about how alone I felt when I was first recovering from silver flower poisoning. I was thinking about how Hudson woke up in a laboratory and was promptly experimented on rather than helped. We both know what it's like to feel alone and helpless in our recovery, and that makes us the best choices to make Hicks feel better.

At the same time, I felt like my failure to initiate a simple conversation was a step in the wrong direction. Was it many steps in the wrong direction? Was I incapable of turning back? Was Hicks even going to care? All that solidified my decision to go with the two doctors to Washington.

That left one person left to make up his mind, but his mind was elsewhere, almost literally.

In one corner of the restaurant was a pool table, and a group of guys were playing. With every _smack_ of the pole against the heavy little balls, Hudson would twitch. Hornby sighed as he observed Hudson's anxious behavior. "Just goes to show how with every trial, there are errors. Hopefully, we can produce something better when we head to D.C. in a few days."

"You do realize that he's _attacked_ people while under this pill's influence, right?" Delhoun asked.

"I'm aware. That's why you're coming with me, Rykell."

"You also realize that I have a life of my own?"

"I do. I just need to borrow you for a few days."

Delhoun took a sip of his wine. "Borrow me. Yes, that's the right term to use." He looked at Hudson, and clicked his tongue. "Hey, are you coming with us or not?"

"I don't think he's snapped out of it yet," I said.

Sighing, Delhoun opened his jacket, and pulled out a tiny spray bottle, which he used to squirt water in Hudson's face.

That got a reaction. Hudson shook his head, and tried to wipe his face dry with a napkin. "What the hell, man?"

"We're asking you a question," Delhoun replied. "Are you going to come with us to D.C.?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No," I mumbled.

"Well, I don't wanna go back. No, not if Hornby's gonna do to Hicks what he did to me."

"I'm not going to experiment on Hicks," Hornby said.

I leaned in to whisper to Hudson. "If you come with us, you can beat up Hornby if he turns out to be lying."

Hudson had to think about that for a minute. "OK, sounds fair. Yeah, I'll go."

* * *

We had two days before we were going to board a small stratoplane to D.C. Before I could complain about the twenty-hour flight, Delhoun explained that the stratoplane shortens that flight to around fifteen hours, and the only reason we were taking that instead of a civilian jet was because civilian jets don't have medical equipment on board. We weren't going to be landing at Reagan International, either; we'd be landing at a military base ten miles outside the metropolitan area, and escorted by a convoy to the same hospital Hornby kept Hudson at.

Delhoun did say he'd get us rooms at the Crystal Gateway Marriott, though, so that was a plus.

When we got back to base, I had to explain the situation to Apone, who, as expected, wasn't happy. However, he couldn't disagree with the fact that Hicks was important to the whole team, and the sooner he recovered, the better. With some degree of reluctance, he gave me and Hudson the OK to go, and told everyone else what was going on during dinner.

Next to me, I could sense Vasquez's anger and tension as she listened. After dinner, I could hear her screaming at Apone in his office. What I didn't expect was her begging him to let her go with us.

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: What would be worse for Drake in D.C.; the memories, or Vasquez meeting Miranda?_

 _Author's Note: The short answer to AlienScum's question is that I get my inspiration from just about everywhere. I think I've stated in the notes of "Grey Hearts" that I've visited Washington before and took inspiration from specific locations. Having visited again, recently, I have several more ideas that will be applied in the Vasquez subplot.  
_

 _The series as a whole wasn't intended to last this long. I wrote "Boreal Nightmare" originally on another writing site, and it got no attention at all. After chatting with others who experience the same problem, they suggested this website, so I published the first chapter and waited. I almost forgot about it when I received my first notification that someone commented on it, and I was thrilled that there are other people out there who are fans of the Colonial Marines, and specifically Drake.  
_

 _The ensemble cast dynamic is another source of inspiration. I spent the first two stories focusing almost purely on Drake before slowly inserting the other characters, mainly because I wanted to have Drake's character solidified before focusing on someone else. It's tricky developing multiple characters at once, and I was afraid of screwing up one of the more popular guys, namely Hudson, given that Drake was a nearly blank slate to work with. Now that I'm more comfortable working with them, I can introduce original characters (Delhoun, Miranda, Aran, Hornby, etc.)._


	3. Chapter 3

My heart was stuck in my throat as I listened to the conversation between Vasquez and Apone. I can't blame her for wanting to come with me. In fact, I want her to come with me. I think my experience would be better if she came along.

I sighed a little as I began daydreaming about walking around the underground mall with her. I wanted to take her to that restaurant Miranda took me to. I wanted to snuggle with her in the soft hotel bed. I wanted her to be happy. _This is perfect,_ I thought. _We won't really have to do anything physical. She won't feel useless._ I glanced at the doorway. _Come on, Apone, let her go._

"Are you asking because of what happened this morning? Or do you just want to be around Drake? I have a feeling this has absolutely nothing to do with Hicks," Apone said.

"It's a mixture of all of that," Vasquez replied. "Sir, you don't . . . you don't understand how much Drake and I have been through-"

"I do understand. Don't ever assume I don't. I also know that you two were troublemakers in boot camp."

"That was boot camp."

"Yeah? You two still have a couple of bad habits here. I don't want to hear that you two are sucking face-"

"We're not in love! I'm getting sick of people thinking that."

"Whatever. Doctor Delhoun and Doctor Hornby _will_ be keeping an eye on you."

"So . . . does this mean-"

"Go pack your things."

There was silence. Vasquez released her breath before saying, "Thank you, sir." She walked out of the room, and upon seeing me, she gave me a lopsided smile. "You're not gonna be stuck with just Hudson."

"I heard." I grinned. "You excited?"

"Not sure yet. We'll see when we get there."

* * *

Shortly before lights-out, I headed down to sick bay to make a second attempt to talk to Hicks. Take note that I had no confidence in myself. At all. I was hoping that confidence would just jump on me suddenly, like Hudson will do to the nearest thing that moves when his medicine starts making him go nuts. That probably wasn't going to happen.

Most people would say, "It doesn't hurt to try." Trust me, it hurts to try, because when I try, I fail. I'm the exception to that saying. They say, "Just do it. You never know until you try." No, that's not how it works with me. My life is so predictable that trying isn't worth the time or energy anymore.

I'm sighing at everything I'm writing now. I spend a lot of time and energy nowadays telling myself how much of a failure I am, even though I could've sworn I made some progress last week. The worst part is that it's no one's fault but mine. I'm the one who shuts down when I'm placed in an uncomfortable situation. I'm the one who struggles with emotions. Hell, it's like there's a giant wheel in my head that spins every time I'm unsure of how to feel, and whatever emotion the wheel stops at, that's what I go with.

This is the stuff I wanted to talk about with Hicks. I wouldn't be in this mess if that fucking flower wasn't in his bag.

When I entered Hicks's room, I was a little surprised that I wasn't kicked out right away. I mean, that's the normal reaction people have when I walk into a room. Anyway, what surprised me more was that Hicks was awake. Even though his face was mostly obstructed by the breathing mask, I could tell that he was thoroughly exhausted. Just laying there and dealing with this had taken a toll on him.

I asked one of the medics if I could talk to him, but when the medic said no, Hicks immediately pulled off the mask. "Look, I've been sitting here all day. If he wants to talk, please let him. I'd appreciate it."

The medic allowed us ten minutes, and left the room with a watch. I sat next to the bed, and got a closer look at how Hicks was handling this situation. It's only been twenty-four hours since I brought him here, and he looks like he's been through hell and back. I was reminded of the video chat we had while he was on the Moon, where he was gradually losing his composure over the fact that they were literally surrounded by nothing.

At least I didn't have to be the first to say anything. Hicks drew in a rather slow breath of air not coming from the mask, and began coughing. He grabbed a tissue from a bedside table, and spat a wad of silvery mucus into it. "That feels somewhat better." He noted my confused look, and said, "Been needing to just cough all day."

I nodded. "How're you feeling . . . overall?"

"Very tired, very hungry, and kinda disgusting. Think about the first time you ever came out of cryosleep; that's how I feel right now."

"Well, I think you're gonna be banned from cryosleep until you're declared clean," I said. "It could be a case-by-case basis, though."

"That'd make three of us unavailable for missions." Hicks sighed, shaking his head. "Sooner or later, the whole damn squad's gonna be poisoned by this thing."

"And it's all my fault."

Hicks frowned, and glanced at me. "It's not your fault."

I wasn't sure how to continue. I just looked down, my body feeling heavy. "I don't know how to convince myself that's true. I know not everything's my fault, but it feels like every event that's happened since LV-400 has been my fault. I have to bear the guilt, because if I blame someone else, that's wrong."

"That's definitely one thing I've noticed about you," Hicks replied. "You're always feeling guilty about something, even if it's not your fault or anyone else's fault. Even if it's something beyond anyone's control, you simply feel awful about it. Why?"

"Because I've made so many mistakes in the past, and I don't . . . I don't feel like I've achieved personal redemption. I don't think I'll ever receive personal redemption for what I've done. It's not just about what I did to get myself thrown in prison; it's about . . . how I was in school and at home and out in public. I've heard a thousand times that we all have regrets in life and we get over them, but I don't know why all my mistakes just follow me around and haunt me."

Hicks adjusted the way he was sitting so he could make better eye contact with me. "Well, yes, it's true that we've all done things that we're not proud of. I've known some guys that were absolute dickheads before joining the Marines, and ended up changing themselves for the better. They were very open about some of the things they did, but not in a way that sounded like they were proud of it. Believe me, a lot of it was pretty embarrassing, and they knew it. Afterwards, I'd ask, 'If that's so shameful, why're you talking about it?' and the response would always be along the lines of, 'I need to get this off my chest. If I don't tell people what happened, they're never going to understand who I am as a person. They need to see that I'm sorry for what I did, and that I'm not who I once was.'"

I nodded. "I guess . . . my problem is that I'm not very open. I don't even want to be open. I like my privacy, and I like keeping everything to myself and to people that I trust. It-It's difficult to earn my trust."

"Don't look at that as a bad thing. Every trait has an upside and a downside. You know I talk to guys in other squads, because we share documents and mission details and stuff like that, whatever. Anyways, they notice how you behave and how Vasquez behaves and Hudson and everyone else. One corporal in a squad stationed in . . . I think New Zealand, said that you look like you're coldhearted and stubborn and couldn't get along with anyone to save his life. I replied, 'You're right about one thing; Drake is stubborn. But, that stubbornness has saved our asses on more than one occasion.' Remember when we were sent to LV-109 to take care of a group of pirates that had overrun a colony? Apone wanted us to flank the pirates via the eastern gates, but you kept saying that it was too fortified and we should flank the western side? You stood by your word and Apone eventually went with what you said?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, I remember that."

"Remember when terrorists had gained control over a spaceport in Stockholm? You wanted to place yourself and Vasquez in the doors of the main lobby to protect us and the civilians when we got wind the bad guys were planning on cutting off access to the rest of the port by blowing up the lobby."

"Yeah. You were saying we needed to get in and find them. I said that was going to become a wild goose chase, and we should just wait, let them try to carry out the plan, and we mowed them down when they entered the lobby." I grinned a little. "It was like one of those old arcade games where you just sit there and shoot everything onscreen. Most fun I've ever had on a mission."

"Well, I'm glad. Anyway, my point is that not being open, emotionally, is not always a bad thing. It's not something you should be ashamed of, but you have to know when a good time to be closed is, and when a bad time to be closed is. It won't happen overnight, so try to practice regularly with someone that you trust to help you feel more comfortable."

Holy crap, I was actually feeling better. "That . . . sounds good. I'll give it a go." I felt like I managed to shove the mountain of all my problems a few inches away. It was probably going to come back, with a lot of force, and bury me, but I wanted to just keep it away. I was going to do this. I was going to make my life better. I was going to stop feeling miserable all the time.

* * *

Hudson was so happy that morning, he asked Bishop to give him another pancake. No one knew why Hudson was so damn happy until someone got the balls to ask, and that someone was me.

"Five pills left, man," he replied. "Five pills left in that bottle. Then I'm done. No more feeling twitchy and angry."

"So, you're celebrating by eating another fucking rock?" I asked.

"It's not like I'm gonna get real cake if I ask."

"Why don't you try, dumbass?" Vasquez said.

Hudson looked at Apone. "Hey, Sarge, can I have some cake?"

"Is it your birthday?" Apone asked.

"No, but-"

"Then no cake."

Sighing, Hudson rolled his eyes. "I hope we're gonna eat like kings in D.C., Drake. I want pizza every night and biscuits and gravy every morning."

I smiled. "Oh, you're gonna _love_ this restaurant I went to last time, then. Tell you what, the three of us will go on our first night there."

Hudson frowned. "Three of us? Who else is going?"

I pointed to Vasquez.

"Really? How the hell'd you get her on board, man?"

"She asked."

"What the hell?! I ask for cake and don't get none, but she asks to go on a trip and gets granted?" Hudson looked over at Apone again. "Sarge, that's messed up, man!"

"Eat your breakfast and shut it, Hudson," Apone said, not looking up from his tray. "All I've heard is your mouth running since everyone woke up. Like a fucking windup toy."

Aside from that, the rest of the day was pretty standard and mundane, but it was nice to do stuff with the rest of the squad. Actually, it would've been better if Hicks was there, so the feeling of "things being normal" wasn't completely present. Part of me thinks it never will be.

I had thought that I'd be able to see Hicks again, but since we were leaving tomorrow, Hornby needed to prep him for the flight to D.C. Despite that, I went to sick bay, just to see what was going on. To the best of my knowledge, Hornby was in the middle of performing an ultrasound on Hicks's chest, and I could hear everything Hornby was saying, though it was muffled by the walls and the glass.

"This is definitely a good thing," Hornby said. "Perhaps . . . you'll be able to recover more naturally after the operation." He turned off the screen, and allowed Hicks to sit up. "That's incredible. It looks like you didn't breathe in as much of that toxin as I thought you did. Should make it significantly easier for you to get better."

"I'm guessing I'm gonna be asleep for the whole thing?" Hicks asked.

"Once we land, yes. You'll be knocked out, the cleaning procedure should take around four, maybe five hours, and then you'll be placed in recovery. Judging by the tests I just did, the procedure might be a bit shorter, but you'll be very tired and disorientated afterwards."

"So, it's not that different from coming out of cryo."

"Not really. When was the last time you had food or water?"

"I've been drinking water, but I haven't eaten since before we got ready to head home from the Moon."

Hornby winced. "Hopefully, you can hold out for a few more days."

"If I'm gonna be asleep for most of that time, I think I'll be fine."

"You say that now, but when you come around, you're not going feel human. Not in the slightest."

"I'll take that risk." Hicks smiled weakly.

I found myself feeling jealous of Hicks's optimism. I would never act like that if I were in his position; I've starved a few times over the course of my life, and I'm not willing to do it again. It's funny how the deprivation of something you need to live can hurt you emotionally. I've gone without sleep, water, food, and air, and I can remember every time very vividly. Waiting for it to come back, or struggling to find it, took a toll. I almost failed my survival test in boot camp because of that.

You are not split into teams when you're put out for your test; you either form a team with some guys or you go off on your own. I was stupid enough to go off on my own. I don't want to say it's my fault, though, because being surrounded by people for the last few months had made me irritable; I felt like I was losing my sense of who I was as an individual. I was tired of saying and thinking "we" or "us." That didn't feel like personal redemption. I know it's important for a military unit to function cooperatively, but I didn't feel like I was able to balance the feelings of being myself and being a team player.

OK, so, maybe it was my fault.

Anyway, I was, at first, ecstatic about being alone. The first thing I did was run down to the lake at the farthest reach of the camp's boundaries, climbed up a hill overlooking the water and the fences, and screamed. I screamed until my throat and lungs were dry. I screamed until I collapsed, tears running down my face.

It was a good thing I was alone. That single display would've deemed me the weakest man to ever step foot into the Colonial Marines. So, I had to prove I was not the weakest man to ever step foot into the Colonial Marines, no matter what.

The simplest way I can put this is that my test didn't go too well. I struggled to forage food, and keep myself warm at night. It was nothing short of hell, both physically and mentally. For this test, you were given a radio, and if you needed help (or needed to give up), you pressed a button, and the drill instructors would come get you. If you weren't injured, they would call you a coward. I didn't want that, so I pressed on.

I couldn't even figure out a way to keep track of time. We only had two weeks to spend out there in the wilderness, but I was out there for two extra days; the instructors and the MPs scoured the area until they found me, sitting in a crappy tent made of pine branches. Afterwards, I was told that I looked like I escaped a mental hospital, and that I was being considered a failure. However, one of the drill instructors said that I needed to be given credit for "having the balls to stay out for as long as I did," so my reward was a pass. That was it.

It wasn't a traumatic experience, but it told me a lot about myself. Unfortunately, at the time, I didn't learn anything from it. I was still longing to be alone, and that feeling was made worse by the other cadets trying to coax me into being more friendly. They tried inviting me to sit at their tables, saving a spot for me on movie night, and smuggling extra dessert for me. I kinda think that there's a point where you become numb to all attempts at bringing you out of your shell; I rejected every single offer, and I felt myself falling further and further into my head. My silence and refusal to interact with people over non-important stuff led a few of the other cadets suggesting I talk to the camp's therapist. Naturally, I refused; I don't want to be known as the guy who goes to a shrink every now and then.

Reading this, I think you're wondering how I managed to live through the rest of boot camp. Three things, my friend: guts, smarts, and suppressing my emotions. Now, I had Vasquez with me, but they kept the girls separate from the guys most of the time. Whenever I had a chance to see her, it was hard to keep my emotions from erupting out of me. Sometimes, our little meetings would primarily consist of me crying. It wasn't until a few weeks before we were sent off for smartgun training that I gained more and more control over my mind, but when it came to graduation, I lost all control, and never got it back.

Perhaps I should save that story for another day. I should be sleeping right now; it's almost eleven o'clock at night, and the base is so quiet, the only thing you can hear is the AC and Hudson's snoring. I'm not ready to talk about what happened at boot camp graduation, even in written form.

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: Is Hicks going to handle his experience better than Drake? Or will he break in the same way both Hudson and Drake did?_

 _Author's Note: To answer a question from a comment, my favorite movie in the series is "Aliens." It got me into the franchise as a whole, and I don't think any side character in the series has a bigger fan following than Hudson. Also, thank you for saying that this is good fan-made content. I certainly don't think this is the best fan-made content, because I've seen better, but I greatly appreciate that you think that._


	4. Chapter 4

It didn't feel like two days had passed when it was finally time to head out to Washington. It was around four in the morning when Hornby started pounding on my door, saying, "Drake! Time to get going! Do you have your stuff packed?"

I looked at my duffel bag on the floor. My stuff was packed, but it certainly wasn't organized. Slowly getting out of bed, I grabbed the bag, shoved everything inside, and closed it. I was about to walk out the door when I realized I wasn't dressed, so I opened the bag, pulled out a shirt and shorts, and put that on.

Hudson and Vasquez were already up, looking just as tired as I did. "Fly's open, man," Hudson said.

"Fuck you," I replied, dropping my bag to zip my pants.

"Behave," Vasquez said, glancing at me and Hudson. "I'm not sitting for fifteen hours and listening to you two developing the maturity of five-year-olds."

"I thought I already did have the maturity of a five-year-old," Hudson snorted.

"You didn't forget your pills, did you?" I asked.

"No, but I wouldn't mind doing the horseradish treatment again."

"That's just because you'd be allowed to eat chips at an ungodly hour."

We left the base to find Delhoun wasn't too happy about leaving this early in the morning, and the coffee he got was so large, it couldn't fit in the cup holder between the driver and passenger seat. Hornby was dealing with Hicks, so it was just the four of us in Delhoun's jeep.

Hudson called shotgun, so Vasquez and I were in the back. I didn't mind because I didn't want Hudson sitting next to my girlfriend, but that didn't mean we were able to be lovey-dovey. However, it did mean that Hudson could annoy the crap out of Delhoun.

"Can I have a sip of your coffee?" Hudson asked.

"And let me catch whatever disease you have right now? Absolutely not," Delhoun replied. "Go back to sleep."

I wondered whether or not Hudson had taken his medicine yet, because it takes awhile before it kicks in and makes him sluggish and tired. Clearly, he wasn't sluggish and tired now. He then opened Delhoun's glove compartment, and announced, "Why's there a muffin in here?"

"That's mine. Don't touch." Delhoun looked in the mirror at me. "Drake, can you backhand him or something?"

"Gladly." I reached over, cuffing the side of Hudson's head.

Vasquez let out an exasperated sigh, and glanced at Delhoun. "So you're the nutty albino Drake keeps talking about."

"Yes. Yes, I am," Delhoun said. "Incredible, we've heard about each other, but we've never had the chance to really meet. Pleasure to meet you, Vasquez."

"I have to wait before I say meeting you is a pleasure."

"Understandable. Take your time."

When we reached the airport, we wasted no time in getting on the stratoplane. I was amazed at how small the plane actually was. Most stratoplanes are huge and ridiculously heavy because they fly very close to the edge of the atmosphere and need all the armor they can get to protect their pressure systems from going haywire. This one was about half the size of most, and it was bright white with a massive red cross on the tail and sides, showing the world that it was built for one purpose-taking people quickly to hospitals around the globe.

"You're sure this thing is a stratoplane?" Hudson asked.

"Yes," Delhoun said. "That's what we ordered. Everything else is too slow."

"OK, man, whatever you say." Hudson began climbing up to where we would be sitting. The section was much smaller than it looked from the outside, and none of us were happy about that.

"It doesn't look like there's a bathroom," I said.

"Oh, _that's_ the thing you're worried about?" Vasquez glared at me.

"Well, yeah. I certainly can't hold my bladder for fifteen hours."

"Guess you'll have to pee in a bucket, man," Hudson said with a grin.

"I don't even think there's a bucket on here."

"Wait a minute-" Hudson opened a door to an absurdly small compartment. "Here's the bathroom, man."

I frowned, seeing that it was pretty much a plastic toilet in a closet. "You gotta be fucking kidding me. This plane probably costs more than a billion dollars, but they can't have a decent bathroom? What's next? The food is worse than the rations we get?"

"Quit your bitching, Drake." Vasquez tossed her duffel bag in the holders above the seats.

"We're going to be stuck here for fifteen hours, sweetheart, so I can bitch all I want."

"I'll make these fifteen hours more miserable than you think they'll be, and don't even _think_ about challenging me on that. I may only have one good arm, but I'll still put you in a headlock."

Hudson smirked. "You two are cute when you fight."

* * *

Taking off in a stratoplane is no different than being in a dropship-just reverse the feeling. We were told to strap in tightly, and a few minutes later, we were shoved up against our seats. We couldn't move at all, and I don't even think I could move my eyes. That lasted for about five minutes, and then everything relaxed.

Vasquez let go of her breath. "That's not something you get used to easily."

"True," I replied. "You OK?"

"I'm fine. How's dumbass back there?"

I looked over my shoulder to see Hudson, who was holding his ears. "What's the matter?"

Hudson grunted. "My ears popped, man! Taking some time to adjust."

I frowned. "If your ears are popping, there must be something wrong with the pressure system in here."

"Or he's just hypersensitive to pressure changes," Vasquez said. "My ears didn't pop. Don't be so jumpy, Drake."

I took advantage of Hudson looking down and wincing to kiss Vasquez on the cheek. "Are you sure you're OK?" I whispered.

"I'm OK. It's _you_ I'm worried about; you've been whining and complaining about the littlest things all morning."

"I'm just tired, that's all. Not thrilled about being stuck here for a long time."

"That's no excuse for you to be an asshole to everyone."

I smirked. "I'll be fine, don't worry." I leaned over to kiss her again. "Love you."

Vasquez kissed me back, whispering, "Love you, too."

Hudson's groaning prevented us from going full-on into passionate kissing. He was now sitting up, and saying, "Wow, that was kinda weird, man. It's probably gonna do it again when we land."

I turned around. "Are you going to talk the whole flight?"

"D'you want me to?"

"Absolutely not."

There was silence for maybe ten minutes. Ten minutes is a really short time in a flight that is taking fifteen Goddamn hours. Even though it was almost five o'clock in the morning, my stomach thought it was breakfast time. Sitting up, I again turned around, and said, "Hudson, you were able to find the bathroom; maybe you can find us some food."

Of course, the fool actually gets up and starts looking around. He knocked on the door leading to the back of the plane, where Hornby was keeping Hicks stable for the journey. A few seconds later, Delhoun answered.

"What do you want?" Delhoun leaned against the doorway, his arms folded over his chest.

"We need food. I'm hungry, Drake's hungry. I don't care if it's fucking cereal, man, just give us something," Hudson said.

Delhoun thought for a moment. "I believe . . . there's a fold-out compartment next to the bathroom with some stuff in it. Knock yourself out, and don't bother us for the rest of the flight." He shut the door in Hudson's face.

Silence fell like a blanket over the plane, aside from the engine. Hudson stood in front of the door, and let out a sigh. "Something doesn't feel right, man."

"He's just trying to make sure everything is kept on track," I said.

"How hard is it for him to just say 'there's a compartment with food in it by the bathroom?' If nothing was going on, he wouldn't have told Hudson not to bother him," Vasquez muttered.

"When have you not told Hudson not to bother you? Everyone does that. There's nothing wrong."

Hudson opened the compartment next to the bathroom. "There's beer in here, man!"

"Oh, you of all people don't need beer at fucking five AM!"

"You're right. I'll wait. There's all sorts of stuff in here. Lookit, they got granola, cereal, cookies, fruit, juice, margaritas, candy bars, water bottles, yogurt, cold cuts, bread, milk, butter, Nutella. Hell, yeah! I'm having fucking cookies for breakfast!"

Vasquez sighed. "Hudson, you're the only adult human being I know who gets excited over having cookies for breakfast."

"Who doesn't get excited over cookies for breakfast?"

* * *

I managed to take a nap after eating. To be honest, I don't know if it's possible to dream while just taking a light nap, but here I was . . . having nightmares while dozing. I saw myself walking down a long, empty corridor. The walls, ceiling, and floor were an off-white color. Was I in the mall, or a hospital? As I continued walking, I began to feel weak. My chest felt heavy, and I was sure I was going to faint. There had to be somewhere I could sit or lie down.

There were no doors and no chairs or benches anywhere. I was beginning to panic, so I decided to sit on the floor. Was there anyone around? As much as I wanted to scream, something was telling me that would wear myself out, but how much more worn out can I get?

I jolted awake, and saw I was still in the plane. Letting out my breath, I sat up, telling myself that it was just a bad dream and I wasn't weak. After adjusting the seat, I got up, testing that out. Sure enough, I was walking normally; I didn't feel faint, and my chest didn't feel heavy.

Hudson must've taken his medicine, because he was slumped in his seat, staring into space. Silver sweat was all over him and everything he touched. Yesterday morning, he said he only had five pills left in the bottle. I hoped that when he took the last pill, that was it; no more silver fluid, no more hormone-infused rage.

I glanced in the window of the door leading to where Hicks was. Hornby and Delhoun were sitting at a bolted-down desk, looking over some documents, and occasionally looking at the monitors displaying Hicks's vital signs. Judging by how they went right back to work, it was safe to assume that Hicks was fine. Physically, he was fine. He was still awake, and made eye contact with me. He gave me a weak wave, and something was telling me that he was bored out of his skull. Unfortunately, I couldn't go in there, so I stood there, feeling hopeless.

* * *

When ten hours passed, I had no idea what time it was. We had crossed so many timezones, and I was starting to become irritable. It was afternoon, right? Wanting to just relax, I took a beer can out of the small compartment next to the bathroom, and sat back down next to Vasquez. Behind us, Hudson was fast asleep, so I thought that was a perfect opportunity to lean over and give Vasquez a kiss.

"Yeah, kiss me now, because your breath is going to smell like alcohol in a few minutes," Vasquez said.

"I thought you were fine with me smelling like alcohol as long as I wasn't drunk, and I haven't been drunk in a long time."

"Because, by some miracle, you're responsible." Vasquez glanced over her seat to see Hudson was still sleeping, and then kissed me.

I didn't even bother opening the can at that point; I set it down on the windowsill, and began kissing Vasquez. It didn't take long for that moment to become passionate. We were both warm, mainly from fear of embarrassment if Hudson woke up, and tried to shove that from our minds. I took a moment to breathe, and whispered, "This'll pass the time, right?"

"If it did, I would've started this hours ago." Vasquez threw her uninjured arm around my neck, continuing the kiss. It didn't take very long for us to be cuddling very close to one another, though the armrest in between the seats made that a little uncomfortable. When we paused, we sat there with our foreheads pressed against each other. I was smirking, and for some reason, that gave us both a bad case of the giggles, which turned into full-on laughter.

Any onlooker would've wondered what was so funny. Frankly, I was wondering what we were laughing at as well. My guess is that we were both tired of being on this damn plane, and kissing must've cut into our emotions, allowing unwarranted laughter to burst out. Or maybe it was because we really loved each other and were willing to do silly little things together, like sit and smile at each other.

Our laughter did wake up Hudson, who sat up and stared at us. At least he interpreted it as we were both a little drunk, and as we began to calm down, we both exploded into laughter once more when we saw a tuft of Hudson's hair sticking up, making him look goofier than ever.

However, the laughter stopped as quickly as it started. In the rear section of the plane, we heard someone start choking and coughing, followed by Hornby yelling, "Make him sit up and whack his back!" Running to the door, we saw Delhoun forcing Hicks to sit up before swatting his upper back. Silver globs of mucus flew from Hicks's mouth, and after he leaned over to spit, he was breathing somewhat normally again.

What was sobering to me was that I knew I would've broke down in tears and panicked if that happened to me. I would've thought my nightmares had come true. I would've been gasping for breath, afraid that this could happen again, and no one would be there to help me. The incident would've burned itself into my memory, and it would replay at the worst times, over and over and over again.

Hicks simply looked at Delhoun, and said, "Thanks," before adjusting his pillow to remain sitting up rather than lie back down.

My jealousy at Hicks's composure was strangely painful.

* * *

The plane had make several circles around D.C.'s airspace before it was able to land. It needed to reduce speed and altitude, and did so by going into a massive, controlled spiral. As predicted, the change in air pressure made Hudson's ears pop again, and I was beginning to think Vasquez was right when she said he's just more sensitive to that than most people. We could all feel the slight tilt of the plane as it turned, and it seemed to stay that way until we broke through the clouds.

Finally, we felt a jolt as the plane touched down on the tarmac, and when it came to a rolling stop, we all breathed a sigh of relief.

"Glad that's over," Vasquez said as she grabbed her duffel bag and threw it over her good shoulder.

"Not really. We'll have to do it again in a few days," I replied.

"Shut the fuck up, Drake."

The hatch opened to reveal that we were indeed at a military base-and that it was July. In Australia, it's winter, but in D.C., it's summer.

"Wow! It's hot out here, man!" Hudson announced.

"No shit." I rolled my eyes, following him down the steps. Looking to my right, I saw Hornby directing some MPs who were carrying Hicks down in a gurney. Again, he didn't seem fazed by this at all. Sighing, I was about to started walking when I saw a familiar figure approaching the three of us. "General Russell?"

"Weren't you three knuckleheads taught to salute an officer?" Russell shouted when he was standing in front of us.

We dropped our bags, and held a salute until Russell returned it.

"That's better. Simple respect, that's all I want from you." Russell looked over each of us, and paused at Vasquez. "What happened to your arm, young lady?"

"I sprained my shoulder, sir," Vasquez replied.

"Ah." Russell turned his gaze to me. "You didn't throw out that medal, did you?"

"No, sir," I said. The bravery medal I got for saving Hudson was still tucked in the pocket of my dress uniform on base.

"Good." He looked at Hudson. "Why're you smiling?"

I don't think Hudson knew why he was smiling. "It's just gas, man."

"You fart on my watch and I'll kick it right back in your intestines. And when you address me, you say 'sir,' got it?"

"Yes, sir."

If Russell wasn't watching us, I would've given Hudson a sharp elbow to the ribs. "Is there something you need, General?" I asked.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Tomorrow afternoon, I want to see all three of you at the Pentagon, at twelve-hundred. You'll get the details when you arrive. Only thing I'll say is this: _do not_ talk about Corporal Hicks while you're in public. Don't mention his name, don't mention the hospital he's in, don't talk about the status of his condition, don't even talk about those Goddamn flowers. Do I make myself clear?" Russell glared at all of us.

"Yes, sir," we said at the same time.

* * *

The convoy trip into D.C. wasn't bad. It was strange seeing all the familiar sites, and the familiarity of it all reminded me that Miranda Harrison lived here.

The odds of seeing her again were pretty slim, but not impossible. I honestly wondered if it would be best for her and Vasquez to meet . . . Would that be best? Or would they try to kill each other?

I definitely don't want to say that I want to see Miranda again, even to myself, and I don't want our definition of "friends" to become muddied. Would just saying "I'd like to see her because we're friends and it's good to check up on each other in person now and then" cut it? What would I have to do or say for Vasquez to be OK with it? Do I invite her to come along? Do I make it very clear to Miranda that Vasquez is my girlfriend and that's not going to change? Or would that make me look obnoxious and make her feel bad? I'm not obnoxious, and I don't want to make her feel bad.

Just as we headed through the gates of the hospital, I made up my mind that I would make an effort to see Miranda, for a few reasons. One, I felt that if she heard I was in town and I didn't try to visit, she would think I didn't care. Two, I think she and Vasquez should talk. They might get along, or they might not. Hopefully, that'll be their problem and not mine. Then again, I blame myself for all problems, so . . . yeah, it might become my problem.

Hudson, Vasquez, and I weren't allowed to leave the vehicle when it stopped, so we strained to look out the windows and see what was going on. "I can't see nothing, man," Hudson said.

Grimacing, Vasquez sat back in her seat. She clutched her sling in her good arm, and I kinda flew into panic mode.

"You OK?" I asked, standing over her.

"Drake, I'm fine. I just need the painkillers in my bag."

"Do you want some water?" I looked around frantically. "There's no water anywhere. Hudson! Did you steal any water from the plane?"

"I will take the fucking pills dry! Just get my bag!"

"No, no, don't take them dry."

"Drake, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Yeah, man, I've taken my pills dry," Hudson chimed in.

"That's because you're crazy." I was about to try and flip over the seats, looking for water, when I heard someone outside yelling.

"Hey, Drake! Is that you in there?"

I stuck my head out a window, and saw Corporal Dunewall standing near the truck. "Yeah, it's me," I replied. "I don't want to seem like a pain in the ass-"

"You already are a pain in the ass!" Vasquez shouted.

"-We need some water or an electrolyte drink. Friend of mine is hurting and needs to take her painkillers."

"Dammit, Drake!"

Dunewall smiled. "Got you covered, buddy. Hasn't been that long, but it feels like it's been forever since we last saw each other." He pulled a partially frozen bottle of Gatorade from his backpack. "How's Hudson doing?"

"I'm doing great, man!" Hudson chirped.

I sighed, giving Vasquez the bottle and her painkillers, then looked out the window again. "So . . . how are you? Seems like yesterday you were keeping me locked up in a fucking warehouse."

"I'm good. Being assigned to D.C. is something most Marines only dream of. The Metro makes it real easy to get where you wanna go in a short amount of time. You still in Australia?" Dunewall asked.

"Yep. I can't . . . tell you why we're here, though."

"I already know, dude. I'm guarding the compound. You tell Hicks I wish him well, OK?"

"I'll try. I'm not sure when we're gonna see him again." I suddenly found I was really tired; the jet-lag really came in and kicked my ass hard. At least we didn't have to wait for very long; Delhoun came aboard the truck and gestured for us to get out.

"Come on. I need to check you into the hotel," he said.

We walked down to a Metro station, where Delhoun bought cards for Vasquez and Hudson; I still had mine from last time, and Delhoun was still using one he got several years ago. "Crystal City, here we come," he said to himself as we headed down an escalator.

At least we didn't have to wait that long for the train, but what bothered me was how . . . distant Delhoun was. He looked like his mind was elsewhere, and he wasn't paying much attention to us at all; in fact, he seemed to be treating us like sheep in a pasture-just pushing us where we needed to go, almost as if he wanted to get rid of us.

I was too tired to ask any questions; Delhoun was probably tired, too, and wanted to check into his room and get some sleep. I couldn't blame him, because that's what I wanted to do as well. We can worry about stuff later.

After getting off the train and hiking through the mall to get to the hotel, we were finally checked in. I heard that Vasquez was getting a room of her own, and I had to bunk with Hudson. That's going to be fun. At least the room had two beds.

Much like last time, the first thing I did when I got in my room was collapse on the bed and go right to sleep.

* * *

When I woke up, I knew that hours had passed. The clock said it was only twelve noon, and my body was saying that just wasn't right. In the other bed, Hudson was asleep and snoring away. He didn't even bother getting under the covers; he was laying there in his shorts.

 _This is the beauty I have to fucking behold every day I'm here,_ I thought, shaking my head as silver drool gradually made its way down the side of Hudson's mouth. Looking at the clock again, I wondered if Hicks was already in surgery. Frankly, I wished I had the chance to say "good luck." Was that even the right thing to say? He was coming back; it's not like we're losing him forever.

At the same time, that felt like a very real fear. I didn't want to wake up the next morning and hear Hicks had died. That thought alone brought on a dull ache in my chest. There's so much I still want to sit and talk with him about. I want to repair the damage I had done when he tried to help me the first time. If something happened, I'd never be able to get rid of that burden, and I have too many burdens already. There's no way I can afford to take on another one.

As I sat there thinking about how horrible my life would be if something happened to Hicks, I realized I was nodding off. My thoughts began slowing down, and I curled back up to sleep some more.

When I next awoke, it was almost three in the afternoon. I still didn't have the energy to do anything, but I forced myself to get up and take a really cold shower in hopes that would wake me up. After being blasted with cold water, I gradually turned the knob until hot water was flowing out. I'll admit I was feeling better, but I didn't feel ready to go out and conquer life yet.

I remember stepping out of the shower my first morning in D.C. several weeks ago, and feeling like I was on vacation. I wasn't getting that same feeling now, but, I did see the same tiny bottle of aftershave on the bathroom sink. Instead of feeling homesick, I reminded myself that Vasquez was next door, so I got my hygiene stuff from my bag, gave myself a quick shave, and rubbed the aftershave gel all over my face. Struggling to contain my excitement, I got dressed while glancing at Hudson, making sure he stayed asleep, and then I quietly headed next door.

 _Maybe I should get her a gift,_ I thought before knocking on the door. _Nah, I want to just spend some alone-time with her. I can get a gift later._ Taking a breath, I knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" Vasquez called.

"It's Drake," I replied.

"What do you want?"

"Can I come in?"

"After your behavior in the truck? I don't know."

My shoulders slumped as the fuzziness in my brain cleared; I was a little bit of a pain when we were waiting for Delhoun to get us and Vasquez's shoulder started hurting. "Please? I'm really sorry about that."

"I don't think you are."

"Can we talk about it?"

A minute later, Vasquez opened the door, and pulled me in. After closing the door, she slapped me. "I told you the day I came back from that fucking Moon mission that I didn't want you getting fussy! Did you forget about that or something?!"

"Hey, we're all tired after a long flight. I said I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

"Well, I don't believe you. I don't fuss over you when you're hurt."

"You kinda did when you heard I almost died on the space station." I shrugged. "Come on, sweetheart, we're supposed to be honest with each other. I can forgive you being fussy, but I'm not going to forgive you lying to me about how you feel. What're you afraid of? Looking sensitive?"

"Yes!"

"Hey, hey, relax. It's not like I tell people that you're capable of being sensitive. Besides, you're not in prison anymore; it's OK to show a little bit of emotion in front of other people."

"Then why is it so hard?"

"I don't know. I struggle with the same thing sometimes. Why do you think I feel bad about how I treated Hicks when he was trying to help me?"

"Because you feel guilty about everything."

"That . . . plays a part in it, yeah, but it's also because I'm not all that sure how to communicate what I'm really feeling to most people." I put my arm around Vasquez. "There's no need to get overly upset. We can work on this together, OK?"

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: If the events of "Aliens" played out the same, but Drake survived, would he feel more or less comfortable seeking help from a professional given that the only survivors of the unit were himself and Hicks?_


	5. Chapter 5

One thing I will say is that Vasquez can be a lot more stubborn than me, and that's fine up until it causes some issues. I was glad that I was able to convince her we could deal with our problems together, because I didn't want either of us brooding on this for the whole trip.

We really didn't do anything noteworthy the rest of the day. Vasquez and I lay on her bed and spent some time in each other's arms. I guess the amazing part was that no one bothered us; no one came knocking on the door or calling on the phone. Honestly, I thought saying something was going to ruin this moment, but I whispered, "You know, I've been wanting to do this since the last time I was here."

"Kinda figured that," Vasquez whispered back. "Are you wearing the aftershave they put in the bathrooms?"

"Yeah. Do you like it?"

"It's generic hotel bathroom aftershave. It's not bad, but it could be better."

"So, do you want me to go down to the mall and get the stuff with the pheromones in it?"

"Maybe. But not right now." She kissed me, then nuzzled my forehead. "I know it sounds silly, but I just want to stay here with you for the rest of the day."

"That's alright. No one's gonna know." I kissed Vasquez on the lips. "I just want to stay here, too."

We were locked in a passionate kiss when someone knocked on the door, and we heard Delhoun say, "Are you awake, Vasquez?"

"Yes," Vasquez replied. "Why do you ask?"

"I'd like to take you and Drake and Hudson down to the mall for dinner. It'll be just the four of us; Hornby's still at the hospital."

Vasquez looked at me. "Are you hungry?"

"I'm starving, actually," I said. "You can tell him I'm in here, too. He knows."

"Why?"

"I trust him."

Sighing, Vasquez got off the bed, and opened the door for Delhoun. I noticed Delhoun was slightly flushed, and there were prominent dark circles under his ruby eyes.

"Is Hudson in the next room?" Delhoun asked.

"Yeah. As far as I know, he's still sleeping," I said.

"That's fine. Listen, can I . . . have a word with you? Only because we're not allowed to talk about Hicks in public."

"Why? What's going on?" I replied.

"General Russell said he'd brief you tomorrow, and he hasn't said a word to me. He's spoken to Hornby, though, for some reason." Delhoun sat on the other bed. "Hicks is still in surgery. They started the procedure three hours ago."

"They didn't get started as soon as we got here?"

"No. Some tests needed to be run, just to make sure he can handle the anesthesia. He's doing alright, a real sport about it, too. It looks like he'll be making a fast recovery, but that all depends on whether or not Hornby can craft a new pill."

I sighed. "That'll take too much time away from his recovery. Why can't he just give Hicks the stuff Hudson's on?"

"Drake, are you forgetting that pill contains a high amount of Annexer adrenaline? Do you want Hicks to randomly attack people? He has a good reputation among the Marines, and that would quickly be tarnished if he suddenly lunged at someone and tried to scratch them or bite them or something similar to that. We don't want that. Plus, we don't want him sidelined too long for missions; he's a valuable part of your team, and I don't think you'll cope with a substitute corporal well." Delhoun switched his gaze between me and Vasquez. "We brought you two and Hudson along for a reason. I've seen in you, Drake, that the silver flower has a lasting mental impact, and we want to reduce that in the future. You can increase the rate of Hicks's recovery by being here for him, and keeping your entire squadron from falling apart."

A feeling that I thought was dormant suddenly snapped within me. I clenched my fists tightly, and growled, "So this isn't about Hicks? This is about the team as a whole?"

"Yes." Delhoun frowned. "Why're you upset about-"

"Because it shows that none of you actually care about Hicks's well-being! You just want to speed up his recovery without concern for anything that should take more time, so he can be tossed back to the unit! Us just sitting here isn't going to make him feel better, and I know exactly what you and Hornby are going to do when we're finally allowed to see him in person; you're going to let us sit there for _ten fucking minutes or less!_ That's not enough time for us to have a real conversation."

"You're assuming things, Drake."

"Am I? Then why does this feel and sound like you're trying to rush Hicks's recovery? My recovery was botched because you people didn't know a lot about those damn flowers at the time, and I'm possibly suffering from fucking PTSD because of it! Hudson never had a chance for a real recovery because Hornby thought he was a good choice for a fucking guinea pig! I am not letting you screw over Hicks. You will give him the time he needs!"

Delhoun didn't even try to argue; in fact, he looked tired and defeated, almost sad. "Drake, I'm sorry. Please, don't pin this all on me." He didn't explain why, and seemed to sink. "I'm just . . . telling you what I know."

Vasquez smacked me upside the head. "Shame on you! You don't even know what the actual plan is!" She proceeded to call me a "thickheaded fuck-nut" in Spanish, and then told Delhoun that she needed a few minutes to get freshened up before going to the mall with him.

* * *

I didn't say anything as we went next door to wake up Hudson. You'd definitely think that after spending a whole week with Delhoun that our friendship would be a little stronger. We'd read each other better and not assume anything about one another.

Why should I put Hicks over Delhoun? Delhoun has taken the time to get to know me, while Hicks has only just started chipping away at the ice I've encased myself in. Part of me was thinking that maybe it depends on how much effort someone puts into giving a crap, and while I know Delhoun does give a crap, that doesn't mean he's putting in the necessary effort.

Rereading that, I realize that sounds completely mean and unappreciative of everything Delhoun's done for me. I shouldn't be placing Hicks over him, but I also know that Hicks was poisoned, and Delhoun wasn't. Hicks needed the attention right now, and Delhoun didn't.

I had half-expected Delhoun to take us to the cozy restaurant I went to with Miranda last time I was here, but, instead, he made us take a long walk through a tunnel to another section of the mall, where he led us to a crowded pizza place. There was a point where I could tell Delhoun was regretting this decision, and that was when we were standing in line for more then ten minutes. He looked over his shoulder at us, and said, "I didn't know the line would be this long."

"Don't make excuses, man," Hudson replied. "I'll eat my dogtags if we gotta stand here any longer."

I frowned. "You continuously drop those in the toilet. I don't think you want to eat them."

"Fine. Can I have yours?"

Vasquez turned around to glare at Hudson. "Can you be patient for _five minutes?!_ We did not bring you along so you could eat like a pig and be the court jester! This is not a vacation! We are here for-"

I clamped my hand over Vasquez's mouth. "Hey, remember what Russell said," I whispered. "Not supposed to talk about why we're here."

By the time we ordered what we wanted and were seated, Vasquez kept giving Hudson a dirty look. I glanced at her, and said, "Can you drop it and move on?"

"I'd stare out the window, but I'd rather look at Hudson than the creepy family sitting outside," she replied.

Delhoun came over, holding all of our orders. "So, what're we talking about?" he asked, while passing the plates out.

"Nothing," I said.

"Look, I really am sorry you had to wait so long. Hopefully, paying for this makes up for it."

"It's fine. I think . . . we should talk about what we can do while we wait for . . . you-know-what."

"Good idea. There's lots to see around here, and-"

"Can you get to Howard University by Metro?"

"I believe so. Why?"

"There's a friend I want to see."

Any idiot could tell that Vasquez was not happy with me. Nope, she was not happy with me at all. She looked like she wanted to take her fork and drive it into my upper leg. Honestly, I felt like I probably deserved that. I will give her credit for not flipping out in the middle of the restaurant. Calmly, she said, "Drake, can I speak to you outside?"

I stood up, following her out into the mall. She led me all the way back down the corridor until we came to an empty theater lobby, and through open the door to a maintenance room. Slamming the door behind us, Vasquez grabbed my head and shook me hard. "I'm not stupid, Drake! How dare you take advantage of Hudson being with us to make it sound like you had no issue with that . . . that _bitch!_ "

"You said it was OK I was friends with Miranda! There's nothing going on between us! Do you trust me at all?"

"I don't know anymore! Y-Y-You had the _balls_ to talk about _her_ in front of Hudson!"

"I didn't even refer to Miranda by name. All I said was 'a friend,' and that's all she is. Listen, the reason I brought it up is because I . . . I want to clear the air between you. I think it's a good idea you get to know each other so you don't feel so suspicious of her. Maybe you'll become friends, I dunno. I'm not gonna force that on you, but . . . I just want you to see that she's not a bad person and she's not trying to make me cheat on you. And you know what? I don't want Hudson or Delhoun coming along. They can go off and do whatever the fuck they want." I gently took Vasquez's shoulders. "This is important to me. I love you, and I want to be able to have friends without you thinking they're out for my heart or sex with me or something like that. Do you get it when I say that this is the first time in a long time that I've managed to have a regular friendship? I didn't have friends in high school. I didn't make friends in prison, or boot camp. Hell, I'm struggling to make friends in our own unit. Do you realize that this is a tiny stepping stone for me to just feel . . . normal?"

Vasquez thought about what I said for a moment. She looked down, and tried to swallow past a lump in her throat before looking back up at me. Slowly, she shook her head. "I'm holding you back, aren't I?"

"No, no, no." I hugged her tightly. "No, you're not holding me back, honey."

She sighed. "You can be a real dick sometimes, you know that?"

"I do know that." I kissed Vasquez on the forehead. "Like I said, there's a lot we both gotta work on. So, are we going to meet Miranda, and are we going to be civil about it?"

"I'll try."

I gave her another kiss. "Good. Now that's cleared up, we can go back to dinner."

Well, when we got back to the pizza place, we found Delhoun pinning Hudson to the floor, spritzing him with the water bottle. I would later learn that someone's phone had an obnoxious ringtone that made Hudson fly off the handle, and all I could do was pray we didn't have to deal with this same crap with Hicks.

* * *

It was dark out when we returned to our hotel rooms. Delhoun was kind enough to get us all ice cream, and I spent a few minutes sitting by the window, eating my treat while waiting for Hudson to get out of the shower. At least we didn't have to be in the bathroom at the same time, like we did when we were staying at Delhoun's.

I watched traffic move at a decent pace in the street below. Across from the hotel, I could see lights in an apartment complex, and it was close enough for me to see a few details. I saw someone watching TV, someone making tea or hot chocolate, someone sitting out on their balcony with a glass of lemonade or alcohol or alcoholic lemonade. I gave a heavy sigh, wishing my life was just as ordinary with simple rewards.

"You OK, man?"

I turned around to see Hudson staring at me, looking a little confused. There was a bruise near his right shoulder, probably from when he was slammed into the floor by Delhoun earlier. "Yeah, I'm fine," I said, looking down at the pint of ice cream.

"You're just staring out the window. Never really seen you do that before."

"There's a lot of things you've never seen me do," I replied. "It's none of your business."

"Why'd Vasquez wanna talk to you alone?"

"Why not? We're friends. Is that not allowed?"

"Was it something I did? I know she was really pissed at me-"

"It had nothing to do with you. She's been . . . She's been a little depressed ever since she hurt herself, and I get it; there's not much she can do, so she feels useless. She just wanted to talk to me alone because I know how she feels." I shrugged. "That's it."

"Ah." Hudson looked out the window as well. "You think Hicks is doing OK?"

"I hope so. He should be out of surgery by now." I took a breath. "Delhoun would come and say something if anything happened."

"Oh, Jesus, I forgot we gotta meet Russell tomorrow."

I nodded.

"Why do you think he wants us to keep this whole thing a secret, man?"

"The only thing I can come up with is that someone put the rotting flower in Hicks's bag, and the USCM is trying to keep as much as they can under wraps so whoever did this won't find Hicks and try to disrupt his recovery."

"Why would someone wanna hurt Hicks, though?"

"I don't know. Maybe someone in his past wants to exact revenge for something that happened, or they're a psychopath."

"It just seems weird someone would wanna hurt Hicks. He doesn't seem like the kinda guy who'd piss someone off."

I looked at Hudson. "He pissed _me_ off, remember? I'd never try to hurt him over it, though. It doesn't have to be a flaw within Hicks that would make someone want to hurt or kill him. A lot of times, it's a flaw within the person doing the hurting. It could be a simple misunderstanding, or that person is mentally unwell. It could be any number of reasons, and I'm not going to stand by and watch them try again. We're gonna find whoever did this, and we're gonna give them a taste of their own medicine."

* * *

I was feeling a little better in the morning in terms of the jet lag, but I was still tired and confused. What forced me to get my ass out of bed was the fact that we had to get to the Pentagon by noon to have that meeting with General Russell. After getting dressed and freshening up a little, I shook Hudson awake. "Get up. We have that meeting today, remember?"

Hudson turned to face me. "Gimme ten more minutes, man."

"No. You need to get up, get dressed, make sure you smell decent, and then we need to get breakfast." Surely, "breakfast" would be the keyword to get him up.

"We don't have to be there till noon, man. I can sleep for another hour."

"No. If you lay here for another hour, every Goddamn breakfast place is going to be crowded. Do you want to be waiting in line for food _again?_ "

Sighing, Hudson finally got up. "OK, OK. By the way, you still owe me a Dunkin' Donuts gift card for helping you break into that community center last week."

"I know. I'll get it . . . sometime today."

"I wanna see it by tonight."

"Deal."

Once Hudson was presentable, we went next door to wake up Vasquez. She wasn't too happy about being woken up either, but at least she's more cooperative than Hudson. As we headed down to the lobby, I turned to her and Hudson and said, "You guys got money, right?"

They nodded.

"You both got your I.D.s and dogtags?"

Another nod.

"Hudson, did you take your medicine?"

"Yeah, man," Hudson replied. "Three pills left."

"Good. You both got your Metro cards?"

Another nod.

"Alright, then, we're set for the day."

We stepped into the lobby and breathed a sigh of relief when we saw it wasn't overly crowded. In fact, it was quieter, too. Most of the noise was coming from the PA systems or TV screens showing the daily weather and advertising the latest tech from Weyland-Yutani and some of its competitors. We then headed down to the mall, and stopped at a small café that only had a few people waiting in line. It didn't take us long to get what we wanted and sit down, and that's when we realized Delhoun wasn't there.

"We can get around without him," Vasquez said. "He's pretty annoying anyway."

"You get used to that," I replied. "He's not a bad person, you know. A little quirky, but not bad."

"He looks like the kind of person who solidified early on that he's not having a love life."

I smirked. "Actually, he's had a love life. His attempts just didn't go well. Anyway . . . what should we do until we have to head down to the Pentagon?"

"I'd like to stay here and just look around," Vasquez said.

Hudson nodded in agreement.

"Are you going to try and keep yourself under control?" I asked.

Hudson shrugged. "I dunno. Is that possible?"

"Is there a pet store around here?" Vasquez asked. "Maybe we can get him a chew toy or an electric collar."

I shook my head at that. "Nah, I think we can calm him down if something happens. I just hope he doesn't freak out while we're meeting with Russell."

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: Is Drake right for getting mad at Delhoun? Or does he need to back off and let the doctors do their work with Hicks?_

 _Author's Note: Out of everyone mentioned here, I'd much rather spend a day in D.C. with Hudson. Not sure why. It's probably because he'd be a lot more fun to be around compared to someone as moody as Drake, but I could see why someone of a certain personality type would rather be around Drake than Hudson.  
_

 _You know what else bothers the crap out of me when it comes to describing characters? How does one describe Drake's hairstyle? This is significantly more annoying to figure out compared to what color Hudson's eyes are (I went with gray after re-watching the knife game scene a few times). Is it a crew cut or a variation of that?_


	6. Chapter 6

Unless you absolutely know where to go in this mall, you're not gonna have much fun just looking around. Not to mention there so many turns and corners that you could get lost. Many of the corridors we wandered were devoid of people, which was fine by me. However, the quietness of it all was pushing me further into my head, and that was the last place I wanted to go. When it started to feel like we were going in circles, my mind quit. Going in an endless loop, just like my memories. Unable to stop, just like my memories. Oh my God, it was just like the nightmare I had on the plane. I'm in a long, white hallway, and I feel faint.

Before I knew it, I was sitting on the floor, holding my chest. I was shaking, and whimpering something about how "it's never going to end." The shock of this happening so fast and so unexpected added an extra layer of pain, and it made me feel sick to my stomach. I felt cold, and I wanted to start crying. There was nothing obstructing my airways, so why was it so hard to breathe?

It took me awhile to realize Vasquez and Hudson were crouching beside me, holding my shoulders. I didn't know what the first to feel was in response to that. Should I be embarrassed? I really shouldn't be. If they had reacted with disgust or asked what the hell was wrong with me, _then_ I should be embarrassed. No, here, they saw I was in pain, and they were trying to comfort me.

"Drake, are you OK?" Vasquez asked.

I wasn't sure how to respond. "On the plane . . . I had a dream I was walking down a hall like this one. I started feeling faint, and . . . and I couldn't get help."

"It was just a bad dream, man, you got us with you." Hudson squeezed my shoulder.

"Yeah. Take a few deep breaths," Vasquez said. "Slowly. It's OK." She glanced at Hudson. "Maybe we should contact Russell and cancel."

"I don't think we can do that," Hudson replied. "Not unless Drake breaks a bone or suddenly gets sick, like projectile-vomiting-kind of sick."

"Well, it's almost eleven o'clock. We need to start heading to the Metro if we're going to get this done and over with."

"I can stand," I said. "Help me up."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." I really wasn't sure, but I knew this was going to be a shitty story to tell Russell if we were late.

Vasquez and Hudson helped me walk until I was sure I could walk on my own. By that time, we were going down the escalator to the Metro station. There weren't a lot of people, but there were still enough to make me a little uncomfortable. I was constantly afraid of having another panic attack.

That was just made worse when we were actually on the train, almost completely surrounded by people. I was sitting next to Vasquez, and Hudson was sitting by himself in front of us. He glanced over his shoulder, grinning at us the whole ride.

* * *

When we arrived at the Pentagon, we were escorted by two soldiers who were probably told who we are and what we look like, because they didn't say a word as they brought us into the main doors. Despite that, we had to remove our bags and wallets and walk through a metal detector. Vasquez and I walked through with no problem, but Hudson walked through, and alarms began going off.

"Are you wearing a belt?" one of the guards asked.

"No, man," Hudson replied. "It might be just me."

"Private, the human body does not contain enough metal to set off a Goddamn metal detector."

"It does if you get silver flower poisoning."

The guard wasn't impressed. "Do you think this is a joke? I will make you strip every article of clothing from your body until I find what's setting off this alarm."

"I'm telling you what it is, man. Do a blood test, or a spit test, or a pee test. They'll show that toxin."

I looked at Vasquez. "We're gonna be here all day."

Luckily, we did not have to see Hudson remove every article of clothing from his person, because General Russell came in to demand what the hold-up was. The guard explained that there was something in or on Hudson setting off the metal detector, and Russell explained to the guard (with marvelously colorful language) that Hudson was indeed poisoned.

"Sorry about that. They're just doing their job," Russell said as he led us to a large office that overlooked the Potomac River, and many of D.C.'s most iconic buildings. He gestured for us to sit down, and then snapped shut the window blinds. The room was dark for a few seconds, until Russell turned on a decorative lamp that had a fading USCM symbol on its shade. "Now, yesterday, I told you that you are not to talk about Hicks in public. I imagine you three haven't been in contact with Doctor Hornby since arriving here?"

"We haven't seen him since we took off, really," I replied.

"Ah. That's OK, and probably good because I want this kept between a select few people." Russell folded his hands on the desk. "Is it safe to assume that you're familiar with the name 'Jenzi?'"

"Private Jenzi?" Vasquez said.

"Yes, Private Connor Jenzi. He replaced Hudson as a rifleman in your unit for the Moon mission, and he put that flower in Hicks's bag." Russell slid a manila folder in front of us. "He served with Hicks in a different unit years ago. At the time, I was a colonel, and I can remember signing Hicks's transfer papers." He shook his head. "I don't think I should tell you that story. It's personal to Hicks."

"It can wait," I said. "If you know who did it, why hasn't he been caught?"

"That's the problem, and that's why I told you not to say anything. Jenzi went AWOL after returning to his unit in Sydney. For a private, he knows how to cover his tracks. It's possible he's assumed a fake identity and is in the D.C. area right now. In fact, we know he might be here, because we've already stopped someone from bombing that hospital."

"And you still didn't catch him?"

"No fingerprints were left behind, period. Some of us are thinking he's using androids." Russell was silent for a minute. "The other reason I brought you here is because I want your help catching this son-of-a-bitch. I'd think you having a personal connection with Hicks would make you decent candidates."

"Sir, we're not spies," Vasquez interrupted.

"I know. I'm not saying you are. All I want is your help. I can give you any equipment you might need, ideas, locations, you name it. I don't care if you just come up with a tip on where Jenzi could be. Anything you do could go a pretty long way into catching him."

Vasquez looked at me and Hudson. "What do you think?"

"The more we do, the less of a chance this guy has at hurting Hicks again," Hudson said. "I'm up for it. Drake?"

I shrugged. "I've never said this before, but, Hudson's got a point. We'll do it."

* * *

When we left the Pentagon, we were each given badges and radio headsets so we could split up and not worry about losing each other. I wasn't really sure if I wanted to start some wild goose chase right this minute, but I did know that if Jenzi was responsible for poisoning Hicks, I was probably going to get in trouble for beating the crap out of him before handing him over to Russell. That's fine by me; I'm kinda sick and tired of people making me put my life on hold.

Just for shits, we took our own separate paths when we got back to the mall to make sure the radios worked. As I wandered around, I realized that I shouldn't have gone too deep into my thoughts, because it gave me a depressed and dismal aura that made people want to avoid me. Part of me was OK with that, but another part was not, so I kept telling myself that I just wanted to be left alone.

I knew not getting any kind of leads was going to depress me even further, but almost all of the shops down a narrow hallway were closed, except for one.

You can't miss this place unless you're blind, because I really don't see how anyone can avoid walking by this place without looking over their shoulder and being met by the gazes of hundreds of puppets. There were puppets practically spilling out of the store, all of them staring at you. I can't see how someone working at a puppet store would be able to tell me anything about a rogue Marine, but, hey, it doesn't hurt to try (even though I've convinced myself it does).

Peering inside, I didn't see anyone at the counter, which is pretty irresponsible considering the cash register is out in the open. The back room didn't look occupied, either, which made me wonder where the hell the employees were. I was about to give up and walk away, but with the damn register out in the open and completely vulnerable to some idiot looking to steal things, I couldn't just leave. So, I slowly paced, thinking the owner was getting lunch or something and forgot to lock up.

I'm not one of those people who's afraid of things like dolls or puppets, so I was bored rather fast. I glanced out the door again, seeing nobody. However, when I turned back toward the counter, I was immediately greeted by two puppets, one with long, rope-like blonde hair, and another with short, spiky brown hair. They opened their arms, and yelled, "Hello! How may we help you, sir?"

I can just imagine the look of "is this what your stories are devolving into, Drake?" on the face of anyone who happens upon this particular journal. I'm not making any of this up, OK? "Yeah, actually, I do need help. I'm Private Mark Drake of the USCM, and I'm looking for someone. Can I talk to the store owner or whoever usually runs the register?"

"We run the register, and we co-own the store, so you can ask us anything," the brown-haired puppet replied.

I smirked. "Yeah, no, I need to talk with an actual human being, bud."

"My name's not 'bud!' It's Jeremy!" The puppet scrunched up his face.

I sighed. "OK. Jeremy. I need to speak with whoever runs this place."

"I just told you. The two of us, and Miss Jackie run this place."

"Alright, where's Miss Jackie?"

"On her lunch break."

"When's she gonna be back?"

"Two o'clock."

I took a breath. "I can't wait that long."

"Well, then, you're just gonna have to ask us! Right, Lily?" Jeremy turned to his blonde companion.

"Yes, yes, he is." Lily nodded in agreement.

 _This has got to be a joke._ I pulled a photograph of Jenzi out of my pocket. "We're looking for this man. His real name is Private Connor Jenzi, but we're thinking he's using a false name. Have you seen anyone who looks like him or acting suspicious in general?"

The two puppets scrunched up their faces in thought. Jeremy began shaking a little while saying, "Hmm," and Lily said, "Don't think too hard!" before smacking the top of his head.

"Have you seen him or not?" I repeated each word slowly and sternly, trying to maintain a grip on my patience.

"Wait, wait, wait, I think we have," Jeremy said. "Two days ago, there was a guy just going by the name 'Connor' in the electronics store across the hall from us. That's it. We have no idea what he got, though."

"OK. When does the electronics shop reopen?"

"Two o'clock. Everyone's on their lunch break."

I can't believe I just got valuable information from a puppet. "Alright. Thank you. I'm sorry if I wasted your time."

"Oh, that's no problem, Mr. Private Mark Drake. Actually, you can consider enrolling in our Adopt-A-Puppet program, and get fifty percent off your first purchase! That comes your choice of a free book, 'Puppetry 101' or 'Ventriloquism for Dummies-No Pun Intended.'"

"Yeah, sorry, I'm not buying today." I turned to leave the store.

"Come back and visit! If you don't, we will play kazoos every time you pass by!"

* * *

Of course, I had to wait until the electronic shop reopened before I could question the owner, so I met up with Vasquez and Hudson in a large, open area of the mall to tell them the whole story.

Hudson spit out his beer, filling the can with warm alcohol and silver saliva. "This's gotta be a joke, man! You serious?"

"I'm serious. I went into the shop, expecting to talk to the owner, and instead I was talking to two puppets."

Vasquez shook her head and rolled her eyes. "There were probably two people under the desk controlling the puppets."

"Of course there were, it's gotta be something they do for marketing, but, still, they actually gave me information about Jenzi."

"They're puppets, Drake. They did not 'see' anyone. The people controlling them played you for a fool," Vasquez said.

"What reason would they have to do that? I'm going down to the electronic shop later to see if this is real." I shrugged. "If not, Hudson can go chew on the puppets' heads next time his medicine makes his brain go wonky."

"You're seriously taking the word of a couple of losers hiding under stuffed toys?!"

"What choice do we have? Did you get anything?"

"No, but-"

"Hudson, did you get anything?"

"I got a giant chocolate-chip cookie." Hudson held up a paper bag from a place called Cookie Palace. "No leads on Jenzi, though." He spotted Vasquez turning bright-red with anger from the corner of his eye. "I asked before making my purchase, man. Don't get mad. I did my duty. Here, want a bite?"

Vasquez rubbed her face. "Fine. You know what? Go with your gut, Drake. If you think that a pair of Goddamn puppets have given you a lead, then go with it if your gut agrees."

"Thanks." I grinned at her, but my smile quickly faded when I took note of the disappointed look on her face. "Hudson, can you give us a minute alone, please?"

"What's going on?" Hudson asked.

"Nothing of your concern. Go see if there are any diners with no lines for lunch." I waited until Hudson was out of earshot, and then focused my gaze on Vasquez. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Nothing's wrong, Drake, I'm just . . . frustrated, that's all." She sighed.

"You're not useless, if that's what you're feeling right now. Look, be honest with me; would you have gone into that puppet shop if you were in the area? It was the only place open at the time."

"I probably wouldn't have, because that's fucking silly."

"There you go. See, I'm . . . a little more observant than you, and that's not a bad thing. Please, don't misinterpret what I'm saying, because, you know, sometimes things happen because you're in the right place at the right time, and-"

"Drake, I really don't care that you got your information from a puppet shop. I really don't. The fact that I got mad says I don't trust you, and I should be trusting you. In the end, we're trying to protect Hicks, and . . . I seem to be forgetting that."

I thought for a moment. "I feel like there's something else going on here."

"Well, what do you think? I'm not used to this type of place. When we're in Australia, I don't leave the base often to go do stuff, so I'm really not that comfortable in such an urban area. I've never been around so many civilians. I don't . . . I don't know how to act around them. Isn't that sad? I was a civilian at one point, and now . . . now I'm not."

"So, you feel like you've been thrown into something you're really uncomfortable with. That's life, honey. You're the one who wanted to come with me because you don't want to be separated from me again, and, to be honest, we really haven't had that fun of an experience. I know, we just got here, but we've both been really moody and tired and we keep getting pushed back into our own minds and we're struggling to force ourselves to just peek out of our shells and try to enjoy what this place has to offer. I think I've said, twice, that there's a lot we need to work on, and we're not doing it. We're just letting things happen. We're just letting our memories hurt us. We're letting everything that makes us uncomfortable take control over us."

"It's so easy to say that. What's not easy is actually doing something."

"Exactly." I offered a weak grin. "Tell you what, how about we go to dinner tonight and talk some more?"

Vasquez nodded a little. "If you can come up with a way to keep Hudson from getting suspicious, then go for it."

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: How would things work out if Hicks was in Hudson's position and vice-versa?_

 _Author's Note: This chapter is a bit shorter compared to some of the others in this story, but it still feels like I crammed a lot in it, and some of it should probably be cut. One thing I will say is that in the Crystal City mall, there is a place called Puppet Heaven, but there is not a place called Cookie Palace. Another thing I'm worried about are the subplots, specifically the one with Drake and Vasquez's relationship. I like them as a couple, but I don't understand why this part of the story isn't flowing as smoothly as the Hudson subplot in the previous story. Is too much being thrown in at one time?_


	7. Chapter 7

After a quick lunch, I headed back down to the area where the puppet store and the electronics store were. Sure enough, the electronics place was open, and a short man with dark hair was standing behind the counter, reading something on his computer. Clearing my throat, I pulled out my I.D. and approached him. "Excuse me, do you have a minute?"

The man looked up, and frowned when he saw the card. "Yes. W-What do you need?"

"I'm Private Mark Drake, USCM. I'm looking for a man called Connor Jenzi." I took Jenzi's photograph from my pocket. "I received information that you sold something to a man fitting his description and calling himself 'Connor' a few days ago. Is this true?"

The man stared at the photograph for a few minutes before nodding and saying, "Yes, it's true. Would you like a copy of the receipt?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, I would." I waited for the man to produce a small slip of paper, and read over what Jenzi had purchased. "That's all he got was a radio signal enhancer?"

The guy nodded.

I sighed, wishing there was more to this than just the fact that Jenzi bought a signal device. "Alright. Look, you're not in trouble or anything like that. Thanks for the information."

* * *

"So, that's it? Your puppet friends just pointed you across the hall, and all you got a receipt saying Jenzi bought a radio enhancer device." Vasquez tossed the paper back to me. "This is bullshit and it got you nowhere."

"Now, hang on," Hudson held up his hands, "Why the fuck would Jenzi be buying a signal enhancer anyway? That's gotta be a clue, somehow."

"Like you would know!"

"Take it easy," I said, gently pushing Vasquez and Hudson away from each other. "Explain yourself, Hudson."

"Jenzi could be building a device that disrupts the machinery the doctors are using to help Hicks."

"I thought almost all hospitals had an outside jammer that create a black spot on the grid and static on radios to keep their equipment running as smooth as possible. The jammers are all coded to effect everything not registered in that particular hospital's database," Vasquez said.

"That doesn't mean the jammers can't be hacked or suppressed," I replied.

"If you shut down the jammers, you have almost complete access to any machinery run by a computer," Hudson explained.

"There's a backup system, right?"

"There's always a backup system, but it's useless once somebody has control of a machine, unless you can get in and block their access quick enough."

I sighed. "Should we tell Delhoun and Hornby?"

"Can't be too safe, man. In fact, I can go down and tell them right now."

"Are you sure? We're in the late stages of the day and that's when your medication is most active."

"I'll be fine, man, this is more important." Hudson flicked his gaze between me and Vasquez. "I'll be OK."

I shrugged. "Alright, then. We'll probably be at the hotel by the time you come back." As soon as Hudson left, I glanced at Vasquez. "So, should we . . . go do something fun? It's too early for dinner. I was thinking we go to the National Mall or the Reflecting Pool or something-"

"Sappy and romantic?" Vasquez rolled her eyes. "I don't know. You've been here before, so you kinda know this place better than me."

"Well, how about we go to Howard University and visit Miranda? I know that's not the most fun idea in the world to you, but it's important, I guess."

"Since it's that important, let's go." While walking down to the Metro, Vasquez muttered, "The more you talk about her, the more I think I'm going to hate her."

* * *

Despite all our talks, Vasquez looked disappointed. Even when I put my arm around her as we rode the subway, she still glared at me like I had done something wrong. However, she took my hand and squeezed it gently, letting me know that no matter what, she loved me.

I grinned a little, and looked at her. "Hey, you wanna know something?"

"What?"

"You're more than my partner, and you're more than my girlfriend. You're my best friend."

Vasquez managed to crack a smile, and patted my hand. "What, did you get that off a fucking card?"

"Nah, I came up with that myself."

"I bet Hudson could come up with something more creative by eating a canister of rainbow sprinkles and analyzing what colors come out his ass."

I pinched Vasquez's cheek. "Why're you so grumpy today? Is it the fact that we're going off to meet somebody who had a big crush on me?"

"No, it's the fact that you are being way too lighthearted about it."

We reached our final stop, and had to walk a ways before reaching the outer gates of the university. Following the signs led us to the visitors' center, but it was obvious that this place was more for parents and people looking to tour the facility before enrollment. Eventually, the peppy lady at the desk disappeared to go inform Miranda that she had visitors, leaving me and Vasquez sitting in a room with a group of teenagers.

It was dead silent. Dead silence is different to quiet ambience. I can't stand dead silence.

Vasquez was reading the Crystal City shops directory, and I was beginning to feel hungry. Nervously, I gave a fake cough to try and cover up the growl from my stomach. It was one of those times where I wished Hudson was around, because he would be talking and talking and I wouldn't be at risk for having unwanted attention given to me.

Finally, the group of teenagers were collected by a tour guide, leaving me and Vasquez completely alone in the room.

"I thought you said it was too early for dinner," Vasquez said.

"I know I did," I whispered. "I guess I had too light of a lunch."

"You should've taken that cookie from Hudson."

"That could not have been a cookie. That was a small cake with chocolate chips in it."

"You can't use the word 'small' to describe that thing."

Before we could continue to argue about how to describe Hudson's oversized treat, Miranda peered into the room from the door leading to the main campus. She smiled before saying, "Hi, Mark."

"Hey," I said. "Bit too soon?"

"Considering we were talking on the phone a few days ago, I'd say 'kinda,' but . . . what brings you here?"

"Well, that's actually classified, but I can tell you that I'm here at the university because I want you to meet someone." I stood up. "Miranda, this is my girlfriend, Jenette Vasquez. Vasquez, this is Miranda, who is just a friend. Please, don't kill each other."

I think Miranda panicked a little. "I-It's a pleasure to . . . to get the chance to meet you! I've heard a lot about you, and . . . and . . . um . . . d-do you prefer being called 'Jenette' or-"

"I don't give a rat's ass," Vasquez replied. "I just came here to see exactly who you are."

"OK, well, I know that . . . I guess this really isn't the best of circumstances, considering . . . what happened. I just hope we can, you know, get off on the right foot."

"The fact that you wanted a relationship with Drake pretty much guarantees we are not getting off on the right foot."

I put my hands on Vasquez's shoulders. "Sweetheart, I said we were gonna be civil with this."

"Mark, it's OK . . . she has . . . every right to be upset." Miranda held out her hand to Vasquez. "Can we at least try? I promise, I'm not . . . experiencing the same feelings as I did several weeks ago."

"I'm gonna have to spend some time around you before I change my mind about how I feel," Vasquez replied. "Right now, I don't like you."

* * *

I definitely didn't expect this first meeting to go well, and I didn't want to be stuck in the middle if a fight broke out. It didn't take long for me to feel like this was a terrible idea. In fact, it made me feel like just remaining friends with Miranda was a terrible idea.

Even though it was my idea that the three of us go somewhere for dinner (namely, the place Miranda and I went the last time I was here), I had lost my appetite. Miranda was making an effort to talk to Vasquez, but Vasquez kept pushing her away. I definitely can't force Vasquez to talk to Miranda; I just had to let things come naturally, and if nothing good came out of this, then I have to accept it.

"How long have you been in the Marines?" Miranda asked.

"Same time as him." Vasquez jerked her thumb in my direction.

"Were you both in prison?"

"Yep."

"Are you both smartgunners?"

"Sure are."

"You enjoy it?"

"Of course I do. It got us both away from some of the more braindead guys in boot camp."

"What do you do for fun?"

"Do you mean me and Drake, or the Marines as a whole?"

"Both."

Vasquez looked at me. "Do we do anything for fun?"

I shrugged. "We cuddle. A lot. That's basically it. We've only gone a real date once."

"Yeah. As for the Marines as a whole, we really don't do a lot of fun things, other than gambling on how many times Hudson can drop his dogtags in the toilet in a single week."

"Or watching him shove Oreos in his cheeks on Friday nights."

"Or watching him spit popcorn kernels straight up in the air during a boring movie."

"Or seeing how long it takes him to figure out we switched his pulse rifle with Hicks's."

"Or taking his swim trunks on pool day." Vasquez grinned a little. "OK, maybe we do some fun things, but picking on Hudson can get tedious."

"It never gets tedious if you know what you're doing."

Miranda frowned. "He's the one who got poisoned, right?"

"Yeah," I said. "I got poisoned, too."

"How come you pick on him?"

"Because it's fun. Look, we don't ignore his value to our group, but he's really easy to play with. And, he's a nice guy."

"He's not that bright," Vasquez added. "Actually, he's selectively bright."

"He's kind of a big teddy bear that's capable of delivering a major ass-whooping."

"You summed it up pretty good."

"Yeah." I kissed Vasquez's cheek.

What followed was a silence that I wouldn't necessarily consider awkward. No one could really think of anything to say, and I didn't want to say anything that could potentially disrupt the fragile peace we had managed to form. Plus, it was nice to just sit there and drink my whiskey with no interruptions.

However, there came a point where the silence felt more like it was wasting time. I didn't want to waste time, so I set my glass down and said, "Is there anything else you guys want to know about each other?"

"Not really," Vasquez replied.

"You barely know anything about Miranda, because you haven't actually talked to her."

"I don't want to. I came, I know what she looks like, I know she's a blithering, panicky fool, that's it."

I could see that this was where I had to stop. No more pushing. What I'm doing is wrong. Even though Miranda and I never actually dated, I knew that what I was doing was just as bad as if I did actually date her. I took a breath, and said, "Do you mind if I take a walk? I need to be alone for a few minutes."

"Sure. We'll still be here, not talking to each other."

* * *

I'll be honest, over the last several hours, I felt like I had been walking down a set of stairs when it came to my emotions. I knew that things could improve and that I could turn around and walk back up. Suddenly, the stairs were replaced with a slide, and down I went. No turning back, no going up. That's my life for you.

I wasn't entirely sure where I was going as I walked around the mall. All I knew is that I was tired and wished I could go up to my hotel room and crash. All I knew is that I was severely damaging my relationship with Vasquez.

Just when I was thought I was going to be completely alone with my thoughts, I spotted Delhoun leaving a burger joint, holding a vanilla milkshake. I was torn over whether or not I wanted to approach him, considering I flipped my shit on him yesterday, but I didn't really have to do anything, since he decided to approach me.

"You look lost," Delhoun said.

"I think I _am_ lost," I replied. "Physically and mentally."

"What'd you do now, Drake? Before you say anything, Hudson already informed us about what you've found, so if that's the thing you wanted to talk about, I've already heard the . . . puppet story."

"Yeah, this is definitely not about that. It's . . . It's about me and Vasquez."

"Oh." Delhoun took a sip of his milkshake. "Well, let's walk and talk, then." As we started walking, he said, "Let me guess, Drake, you tried to introduce her to Miss Miranda Harrison?"

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

"Putting two and two together. I'm also guessing you thought having your girlfriend meet someone who was in a false relationship with you would somehow settle any differences?"

"Kinda, yeah. I don't think it's working out."

"I wouldn't think it'd work out. From what you've told me about Miranda and what I've seen from Vasquez, their personalities are so vastly different that they won't get along under normal circumstances. Miranda is passive and has a tendency to fret, while Vasquez is headstrong, stubborn, and aggressive."

"I've already seen that it isn't working out. Miranda is trying to at least get along, but Vasquez is flat-out refusing to talk to her. I don't want Vasquez thinking that Miranda is-"

"Drake, I think you should just accept that Vasquez loves you. She is not letting another female get close to you, especially since that other female wanted a romantic and possibly sexual relationship with you."

"Vasquez herself said that it was fine I'm just friends with Miranda."

"Let me tell you a story; in my research, I've learned that the Annexer is strictly monogamous. When a male and a female mate, they mate for life. Their bond is so strong that they will actively attack any other Annexer that is not family if they think it's trying to get between them. If their partner dies, they refuse to mate again."

"Are you seriously comparing us to Annexers?"

"What part of 'Vasquez loves you,' don't you understand? If she's your bloody girlfriend, why are you so worried about keeping your friendship with Miranda together when you know that she did, at one time, had romantic feelings for you?" Delhoun held up his hands. "Am I speaking French to you?"

"No." I took a breath before explaining to Delhoun almost exactly the same thing I told Vasquez about my difficulty in making regular friends.

Delhoun took my chin in his free hand. "Listen to me closely, Drake. Find. Someone. Else. Someone who is not looking for a romantic relationship. Do you understand?"

I sighed. "Fine. How's . . . you-know-who doing?"

Delhoun leaned in to whisper. "He's doing fine. You can see him tomorrow."

"Just me?"

"Sure. Just you. Come down at nine in the morning. We'll have breakfast, and then we'll take the Metro to the hospital."

"Sounds good to me." I shrugged. "Thanks for . . . listening, I guess. I'll see what I can do about Vasquez and Miranda."

Delhoun nodded. Before I could walk away, he said, "Drake? If you really don't want to cut off Miranda, you need to talk with her alone about what's going on, that way she doesn't feel overly pressured by Vasquez's presence."

I bit my lip, looking over my shoulder as I headed back in the direction of the restaurant. I kinda knew he wasn't going to force me to ditch Miranda; he knew I wasn't going to leave Vasquez for somebody else. Hell, we're not Annexers.

When I returned to the restaurant, I was a little surprised to see Vasquez and Miranda were actually talking and laughing with each other, and Vasquez smiled when she saw me. "Hi," she said. "Sit. We were just talking about you."

"Oh?" I replied. "What about me?"

"About how even though you're adorable, you have certain traits that are really irritating." Vasquez pinched my cheek.

"Are you drunk?"

"Nope."

I nervously smiled, because I could smell alcohol on her breath. "I think you are."

Vasquez looked at Miranda. "See? He's fussy. If he thinks something's wrong, he doesn't let it go."

"OK, OK, um . . . if you don't mind, I need to talk to Miranda for a minute. We won't be long."

As I led Miranda outside, she gave me a confused look. "Is this normal?"

"No," I said. "What the hell did you do?"

"I didn't do anything except try to keep talking to her. Mark, I swear, I wasn't-"

"Relax. I believe you, OK? Look . . . I'm sorry for doing this to you. This-This was wrong. Plus, I'm sure this made you really uncomfortable."

Miranda shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not. Frustrated, yeah, but not . . . not uncomfortable." She looked up at me through her glasses before taking a seat on a bench. "That wasn't your intention, right?"

"No, my intention was not to make you uncomfortable. My intention was to at least try and make you and Vasquez comfortable around each other. That failed. Now, she's drunk, and I feel like I need to explain myself to everyone involved. Even I don't know what I'm doing right now. This was a horrible idea. I wasted your time."

"Not really. I wasn't doing anything worthwhile, either. I really don't have anywhere to go in between semesters. I don't even have a part-time job."

"Busy?"

"Yeah. Really busy. What's the point in getting one now when I have to go back to school in three months? Anyway, I'm sorry, I got off-topic. I'm just saying that you didn't waste my time."

"You can say that all you want; it's not going to change how I feel."

Miranda nodded. "Your girlfriend was telling me about how stubborn you are, sometimes. I told her that was something I figured out pretty quick the morning we first met. Hell, I didn't think talking about you was a bad idea, because it's literally the only thing we have in common, but after talking about how you can be stubborn, I guess she had one drink too many and started talking about all your flaws."

"I wouldn't be too upset. After all, she's not thinking that clearly. My flaws are there, and they're not something that should be ignored, especially when it comes to being in a romantic relationship. Besides, I'm used to people talking about how much I suck behind my back. Even you knew that I'm not the absolute perfect guy when we were 'dating.'"

"That depends. You're perfect for Vasquez. I listened to your conversations. You bounce off each other pretty well, and . . . you're kinda cute together. Even though you're keeping your relationship a secret, you're OK with little displays of affection."

I smirked. "Those're the good parts of it all. Trust me, it's not always like that." I took a breath, hoping I was wording everything correctly. "You know that being friends with you is difficult because I'm constantly reminded of the fact that we fake-dated, right? I repeat myself all the time because I'm afraid that just saying 'hello' to you is the ultimate betrayal. It's not like we see each other that often. After this, we may never see each other again. I hope you find somebody who makes you happy. Keep in mind that somebody is not me. I already have someone who makes me happy, and it was stupid of me to think that you two could even remotely have a conversation without some form of fighting."

Miranda was silent, and worked her jaw as she thought.

"Look, I don't want to seem like I'm just ditching you, but, I think I should bring Vasquez back to her hotel room before something happens. Maybe we can talk another day. If you want to call, my room number is six-two-zero in the Crystal Gateway Marriott." I held out my hand, but Miranda went for a hug. At least she knew not to hang on so long, and let go after a few seconds.

Even though we went our separate ways peacefully, I still felt like a failure.

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: Has Drake failed, or were the more basic parts of his idea accomplished?_

 _Author's Note: There were a couple things I wrote in here that I sort of want to include in detail in a later story, namely all the pranks they play on Hudson. I'm sorry if this chapter feels very dialogue-heavy.  
_

 _Another thing I've been thinking about is creating a roleplay set in this particular series, but I don't think it would work. Is there a community out there for more serious, character development-oriented roleplaying?_


	8. Chapter 8

I carefully led Vasquez back to the hotel, where I decided to stay with her and make sure she was safe for the night. However, I went next door to see if Hudson was back. As I entered the room, I saw the television was on, and I heard hear the toilet flushing. A minute later, Hudson emerged from the bathroom, looking satisfied with himself.

"What'd you do?" I asked.

"Lost about twenty pounds," Hudson said. "Ten from walking, and ten from-"

"OK, that's enough. I'm glad you can count. I just came by to see if you were here and . . . alive, I guess. You didn't kill anyone?"

"Nope. I told Delhoun and Hornby about what you found."

"I know. I'm staying with Vasquez tonight. She's kinda tipsy, and I just want to make sure she's OK."

"What the hell'd you guys do? Go to a bar?"

"We went to dinner, that's all."

"Ah. That's fine, man, it's good you're looking out for her." Right before I left the room, Hudson added, "Oh, Hicks told me to tell you that he says 'hello,' and that he's feeling a little better."

I paused. "You saw Hicks?"

"For a few minutes, yeah. He was tired and not all that up for conversation, but he gave it a shot, and he wanted to know how you were doing. Honestly, I wasn't sure how to answer that. I said you were fine, but I also know that you had a panic attack earlier today, and . . . maybe you're not fine."

"No, I'm really not fine," I said. "I'm tired, too, and . . . my mind's all over the place." That probably wasn't the best thing to end the conversation on, but it was true that my mind was starting to go in all different directions, and I wanted to go to bed.

Without so much as a "good night," I went back to Vasquez's room, finding her sitting on one of the beds. She looked at me, her usually beautiful brown eyes glassy with slight drunkenness. Grinning at me, she said, "Are you spending the night, Drake?"

"Yeah. I'm keeping an eye on you, that's all," I replied.

"Well, then, I guess that also means we can have a little fun while we're at it."

"Honey, the best thing for you to do right now is to take a hot shower and go to bed. I'm telling you right now that you're gonna feel like garbage in the morning."

"You're just saying that."

"Am I? Let's see what you think in the morning." I know arguing with someone while they're intoxicated is pointless, but anything is better than silence right now.

* * *

For the record, I was right when it came to how Vasquez would feel in the morning. I woke up to hear her sobbing in the bathroom, and I immediately got out of bed to go to her aid. She was sitting on the bathroom floor, a towel wrapped around her, and she was crying. I sat next to her, putting my arm around her shoulder. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" I whispered.

"'What's wrong?' I got drunk last night and all you can ask is 'what's wrong?!'" She sniffed. "I'll tell you what's wrong; the fact that I . . . I showed no self-control in front of your friend! I was being selfish a-and I completely ignored the fact that . . . she's just a friend."

I hugged her tightly. "It's fine, honey, at least nothing bad happened. You're alright. I'm not mad at you. Is that all that's bothering you?"

Vasquez shook her head. "No, Drake, that's not the only thing. I was . . . having nightmares about when I got arrested."

While I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, Vasquez had committed murder in a coldblooded, drunken rage. She hung around all the wrong people in the quiet outskirts of Phoenix, Arizona. According to what she told me, it wasn't because she was raised that way; it was mainly because she judged herself about as harshly as I judge myself now. From a young age, she was fit and active and was involved in girls' sports since middle school. She wasn't a star player or anything like that, but she was certainly a hard worker. However, she would quickly learn that getting your name and face in the school and local papers took more than hard work, and it was in her sophomore year of high school when she experienced massive burnout. She had been committed to the girls' lacrosse team since being good enough to make varsity in eighth grade, and she wasn't the only one. The only difference between her and several of the other athletes was that they were in other sports and clubs and were highly active in the community, thus granting them more attention. On the other hand, Vasquez chose to focus on one thing at a time, trying to avoid becoming overwhelmed. The burnout came after the second game of the fall season, where she scored the most goals, but was left out of the post-game photograph.

She was mentioned, but with a simple " _J. Vasquez (not pictured)_." What happened was that she was in the locker room, and no one came in to get her. The article on the game didn't mention her, and instead focused on the "incredible leadership" of someone else. Feeling her work was not paying off, Vasquez quit. Long story short, she fell in with a bad group of "friends," and when she attended an underage drinking party, she got herself wasted, and started a fight with another girl. It didn't take long for the fight to get out of hand, and it ended with Vasquez beating the other girl's brains out with a chair leg.

For some time, Vasquez was so haunted by her experience that she refused to touch alcohol. I took it upon myself to make her less uncomfortable, and although that worked, she's very careful when it comes to moderating herself. All I can do is hope that last night doesn't set her back in any way.

I decided not to say anything after Vasquez brought up having nightmares about her arrest. Hugging her close, I rested my chin on top of her head, and gently rubbed her arm. I felt like the best I could do was be a comforting presence, let her know I was here and I was listening, until I could think of a solution. Frankly, I don't think there's a definite solution; she made a mistake and that's it. The only thing she can do is learn from it and not do it again.

* * *

If I could, I would've stayed with Vasquez all day, but I did tell Delhoun last night that I wanted to see Hicks and talk to him alone. Vasquez didn't insist on coming with me; after all, she wasn't feeling good from last night, and decided she would actually relax and rest today. I did check on Hudson, though, and saw he was still sleeping. The TV was still on, and there was an empty beer can on the nightstand.

At least Hudson was able to fully enjoy himself here, while Vasquez and I were struggling to sever ourselves from our problems for a few days.

I met up with Delhoun outside a Dunkin' Donuts, and that's when I remembered I owed Hudson that gift card. Without a second thought, I got a twenty-five-dollar gift card and shoved it in my pocket. "Remind me to give that to Hudson later today," I told Delhoun as we headed to the Metro.

"Sure thing," Delhoun replied.

I'll spare you the boring details of our ride to the hospital. The only thing that happened on the train was that a kid around eight years old was staring at Delhoun, and said, "Mom, look, that guy has red eyes."

When we finally got to the hospital, I found myself worrying about what I was going to say to Hicks. At the same time, I felt like he was going to be the one initiating the conversation, and I shouldn't be worrying about anything at all. It was also strange how this was the same building I had gotten kicked out of and banned from, but now I was being welcomed warmly because Hornby was no longer using Hudson for experiments. Plus, we weren't being led to a laboratory.

Hicks had a really nice room all to himself. It was pleasantly warm, and there was a large lava lamp on a table across from the bed. Delhoun explained to me that certain modifications were made to the room in order to keep Hicks relaxed throughout his recovery. I thought it was nice, and wished I had a lava lamp when I was recovering. Wishing me luck, Delhoun left the room, and I walked over to the bed, grabbing a chair along the way. Some part of me really wanted to be the one starting the conversation, probably to show that I wasn't shy or stagnating my progress, so I said, "Boy, they're spoiling you here, aren't they?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Hicks replied, "but this is a lot more than I expected."

"Are you feeling better?"

"I can breathe a lot easier, that's for sure. It still feels like I got two lead weights in my chest, but I think I can walk without feeling like I'll pass out. Doctor Hornby hasn't let me stand up yet."

"Is he treating you good?"

"So far, yeah." Hicks slowly sat up, wincing with effort. He looked like he was going to be sick once he managed to be in upright position. "How have you been?"

I forgot to attach my "thoughts-to-mouth" filter in my head, and said, "Really? You're the one in a hospital bed and _you're_ asking _me_ how I'm doing?"

"I don't want a pity party, Drake. Besides, I asked because of the talk we had the day before leaving. Remember? You told me you feel guilty for things that you didn't do because of things you did in your past."

"Yeah. That."

"Have you tried talking to somebody about that?"

"No." I needed to think of an excuse. "I'm not ready."

"That's fine. You can take as much time as you need. Hell, if you feel like it, you can talk to me. I won't say anything to anyone, I promise."

"Thanks, but, again, I don't feel ready." I glanced at Hicks. "You know, over the last few days, I've asked myself whether or not you broke your promise to me about how we were going to talk right you and everyone else came back from the Moon."

"I didn't have a choice. I don't think that constitutes to a broken promise."

"Well, it certainly means that when we catch Jenzi, I'm gonna slam his head against the fucking wall." I frowned, remembering what General Russell told us about how Jenzi and Hicks used to be in the same unit. "Can I ask you something? Why did you get transferred from your past unit?"

Hicks didn't respond right away. He adjusted himself before reaching over and taking a cup of tea from a small table. Before placing the cup to his lips, he said, "It was a little dysfunctional."

"Like ours?"

"No. We're a good dysfunctional. What I used to be in was a bad dysfunctional. We didn't have anyone who could break the tension or make anyone feel at ease. It was a strict environment that was a bit too strict for its own good. There was no balance, and when people cracked, they exploded on everyone. Jenzi was one of those who cracked easily, but only after bottling things up for weeks at a time. There was a time where I tried to take him aside and deal with him, and he refused. I tried again after a week, and he finally opened up a little. He said that he wanted a transfer, and at the time, I couldn't authorize that kind of request. He wasn't too happy about that, and decided to convert all his frustration into insults and badmouthing and sometimes physical threats. So, I ended up wanting a transfer, talked to Russell, and got it."

"I can imagine Jenzi didn't take to that so well. Funny, he wasn't rude to you when he and Lucano came to our base a few weeks ago."

"I think that's because he knew what he was going to do when we got to the Moon. I don't know if that's true, but, it's what I think."

"Why do I feel like if I was on that mission, this wouldn't have-"

"Don't blame yourself, Drake. Just don't. You probably wouldn't have known or suspected anything."

"I'm sorry." I took a breath, feeling like I had exhausted the conversation, and made my situation worse.

"I just don't want to see you beat yourself up. The more you do it, the less comfortable you'll be about opening up to people. You understand that?"

"It's a lot easier said than done," I sighed. "Where do I start?"

"Start with not assuming you're the culprit if something happens. Common sense should tell you that you had nothing to do with it, and there's nothing you could've done to prevent it. Second, talk to people. You and Vasquez trust each other, right? If she's your friend, then surely she'll reassure you that you've done nothing wrong."

"In her own way, yeah, she will."

Hicks offered a weak smile. I say "weak" because he looked like he was suddenly in pain. As he lay back down, I noticed that he was shivering. A horribly selfish part of me didn't want to leave. I wanted to keep talking until I felt like I could find a solution to my problems. However, I knew that wasn't possible; Hicks needed rest if he was going to get better. I could always come back later.

Taking Hicks's hand, which was cold, I said, "I'll leave you alone to sleep. When would be a good time to come back?"

"Sometime in the afternoon, I guess." Hicks adjusted his pillow. "You can bring Hudson and Vasquez, if you want."

"Sure. We'll bring 'get-well' presents."

"Fine. No food. Hornby said I can't have anything solid yet."

"I'll keep that in mind." I stood up, taking the chair back to where I took it from. "Feel better, OK?" Again, I wished I could stay longer, but it wasn't going to happen. Deep down, I didn't want to bring Hudson and Vasquez along, but if Hicks wanted to see them, I didn't want to deny him that chance; it wouldn't help his mental recovery.

When I left the room, I could see Delhoun was in a lab across the hall. I knew he was probably helping Hornby with that pill, and I was curious to see how that was going. As I knocked on the door, Delhoun was quick to get up and answer. "Drake," he said, "is everything OK?"

"Yeah. Hicks is sleeping. I was just . . . wondering what you're doing," I replied.

"Well, come on in and see." Delhoun led me inside, and I saw four Annexers perched on top of their cages, staring at me intently. Hornby was at a large table in the back of the room, an array of instruments laid out. "Just don't touch anything," Delhoun said.

I shrugged. "Not like I planned to." Looking around, I realized there weren't only four Annexers in the room. There was a fifth, but he was noticeably different than the others. Sitting on top of Delhoun's desk was an animal much larger and lankier than an average Annexer. Instead of a black suit and helmet, he was completely clad in white, and there were bones dangling from a black band around his neck.

"And I see you've finally met Ursa Major."

I glanced at Delhoun over my shoulder. "What?"

Strolling over to his desk, Delhoun gently patted the large Annexer's head. "Ursa Major is a Polar Annexer, a very hardy relative of the standard that can only be found in polar regions. Beautiful, isn't he?"

"Am I supposed to think so?"

"Maybe. If you want to earn his trust and respect, you should. Polar Annexers are incredibly loyal and honorable creatures, but don't underestimate their physical power."

"Is that why he's wearing bones?"

Delhoun shook his head, and held up the bones for me to see more clearly. "These are the bones of the marbled hare, a species native to LV-400. It's notoriously hard to catch, and doing so shows determination, perseverance, and dedication. When a Polar Annexer catches and kills one, they're free to do what they please with the bones, and, more often than not, they make necklaces and other articles like these. In some cases, if they feel a human they've come to trust is worthy, they'll present them with hare bones."

"Yeah, well, I highly doubt I'd ever be seen as worthy," I mumbled.

"Why don't you sit and spend some time with Ursa Major and let him decide?" Delhoun handed me a brush. "We need a sample of his fur to get that hormone for the medicine anyway. That would be a big help to us, and Hicks."

I looked at the brush, and then at Ursa Major. Nervously, I sat on the floor. I didn't need to bother beckoning him over, as he had already removed his jacket and helmet before hopping down to rest on my lap. I was a little afraid to touch him, but I couldn't help but run one finger in his silky black fur. Sighing, I put the brush to his back, and said, "I don't know what it is about me you animals think is so special."

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: In your opinion, who has the more creative backstory: Drake, Hudson, or Vasquez?_

 _Author's Note: Another reason I like "Aliens" the best is because there are so many little things about the characters that can have a really good story behind them. I've been longing to include the "origin story" of Drake's bone necklace and hat décor. They seem like a key part that you can't miss when looking at him; for all its flaws, at least "Aliens: Colonial Marines" didn't miss his bone necklace when making his player model.  
_

 _Next, I'd like to work on figuring out how and why Hudson has a tattoo of barbed wire around his neck._


	9. Chapter 9

Delhoun once told me that one reason Annexers are catching on as pets is because they don't shed very much. They supposedly shed less than cats, dogs, and rabbits. They can groom themselves and don't need to be brushed that often, but they enjoy it because it means they can bond with their human.

I've asked why Annexers seem to be attracted to me, and Delhoun said it's because I'm covered in the scent of so many. I'm already bonded to Little Shit, so that means his scent is permanently on me. I'm friends with Winnie, I've handled many a baby Annexer, plus the ones that were being abused by Doctor Garrett. Even Dakota has her scent on me. Apparently, having this many animals trusting me (aside from Dakota) says to other animals that I'm trustworthy. It's like I'm wearing a sign for Annexers that reads, "Jump on me."

If Ursa Major got that vibe, he was doing a damn good job at restraining himself. He was lying relatively still as I brushed him, and his whiskers twitched whenever I got close to his head. While Winnie could curl up in my lap (and proceed to try and dig in my pants), there was no way a Polar Annexer would be able to fit. He had to be the size of a greyhound.

It didn't take very long for him to get tired of what I was doing, and that was fine, because I had a good enough sample of fur stuck in the brush. Ursa Major put his jacket and helmet back on before shaking himself, the bones in the necklace knocking against each other. Sighing, I handed the brush to Delhoun. "Here. Hopefully, that's a decent sample."

Delhoun nodded. "Thanks, Drake." He took a small metal comb, and began scraping the fur into a jar. "Are you staying?"

"No. I need to go check on Vasquez. And make sure Hudson didn't maul any cleaning ladies."

* * *

It was past noon when I got back to the hotel, and I didn't bother stopping for lunch. I also realized that I didn't shower last night, and that made me a little self-conscious. Not wanting to stink in front of Vasquez, I entered my room, hoping to take a quick shower and go to her as soon as possible.

I was a little surprised Hudson was there. "I thought you'd be wandering around the mall by now," I said.

"I went downstairs for breakfast, man," Hudson replied. "Something was telling me to come back and just hang out here, so I did."

"Did you have a freak-out?"

"No. I kinda just wanted to be alone."

"OK. Well, I'm gonna shower and go check on Vasquez."

As I got in the shower, I realized I was probably going to be standing in there a long time, lost in thought. Fifteen minutes isn't a long time, but it felt too long for me, especially since I told myself I was going to see Vasquez as soon as I could. I silently cursed myself as I left the room afterwards, and knocked on her door.

"Who is it?" Vasquez asked.

"Who else could it be?"

Vasquez opened the door. "You don't have to be a smartass."

"Well, maybe I want to be a smartass," I said, walking into the room.

Closing the door behind her, Vasquez turned to face me. "What do you want, Drake?"

"Just checking on you. You still feeling hungover?"

She nodded. "It's not as bad as it was a few hours ago."

"Good." I wasn't sure what to do next, considering I achieved my goal of checking on her. "I'm guessing you haven't really left the room?"

"No. Too tired, not feeling well, and I just don't want to do anything."

"OK. How're you feeling . . . emotionally?"

"A little all over the place."

I smiled a little. "Well, that makes two of us. Kinda feels like a compass that has no fucking idea where north is."

"I don't even know where the compass is. I lost it. Lost it, can't find it, I . . . I managed to take a nap today, and all I saw was that . . . that bloody mass I created from that girl's head."

My smile quickly faded.

"At least I know how you feel when you say that your past won't leave you alone."

"Hey, this was only one time. My past has been haunting me for years. You managed to forgive yourself. It's only been a day. Let's see how things go in the future. I get it; you're scared it's going to keep coming back. Try not to focus on it." I paused, thinking for a moment. "How about we go take a walk? There's a lot to see around here, and maybe it'll take your mind off this."

* * *

I managed to persuade Vasquez into going to the National Mall with me. It was getting later into the afternoon, and the sun had stuck around long enough for it to be almost unbearable to walk around in, but that was good for us because it meant less people were around. In fact, even the usually tourist-heavy monuments were quiet, and felt much bigger without so many people.

We first stopped at the World War II memorial, and sat on the low steps by the water. Neither of us bothered to take our boots off; it was too hot and I'd rather keep my socks as dry as possible.

"I remember that you could sign up for trips here, if you were part of a certain class," Vasquez said. "Wasn't smart enough for that."

"I could've hitchhiked on a bus to here from Pittsburgh, but I wasn't stupid enough for that," I replied.

A grin was trying to tug at the edges of Vasquez's mouth, but she resisted that. She gazed at the towering structures, and sighed. "You read about places like this in books and you see pictures in magazines and on television. You know there's a whole world beyond home, and yet sometimes you feel you've been stuck for so long that you start wondering if any of this is real."

"Do you feel better now that you've seen it in real life?"

"A little, yeah."

I put my arm around her. "So, do you think that if we ever leave the Marines, and if we ever, I dunno, start our own family . . . do you think taking the kids here would be a good idea?"

"I would be fine with taking him or her when they're . . . over thirteen. I've seen people with little kids around here, and it looks like everyone is suffering. The kids are too young to remember, the ones that are a little older don't care, and the parents look like they're regretting this decision. If we have _a_ son or daughter, I would prefer to wait till they're old enough so they can appreciate this and we don't have to suffer."

"Hey, that's sound reasoning. I like that." I kissed Vasquez's cheek. "Plus, I think you'd be a great mom."

She sighed. "I don't think so. Hell, you probably think you'd make a terrible father."

"Yeah, that's true."

"Why bother having a kid if we both think we'd be horrible parents?"

I took a minute to think. "Maybe the moment you hold that little bundle in your arms, and we look him in the eye, something in us will spark and we'll be on the path to being the best parents ever."

"I don't think it'll work like that, but OK." Vasquez glanced at me. "Before that, we have to get married, though. I think we've already talked about that."

"We did. I remember it was two years after we first met when you brought it up."

"No, I think _you_ brought it up."

"You brought it up, sweetheart. You said, 'Drake, we've been dating for almost two years. Do you think we'll ever get married?' I said, 'Yeah, if we leave the Marines.'"

She sighed again. "I'm starting to remember now. I had mentioned it'd be best if it was private, just the two of us and a minister, because we've been severed from home for so long. It would be like we're starting over, and we know what we did wrong, and here's our chance to fix everything."

"Yeah. You want the clichéd beach wedding, right?"

"It won't be clichéd if we add our own touches to it."

"Like what?"

"Well . . . my favorite flower is the orange blossom. If we put those on the table, it would seem somewhat unique. Hang them over us when we say our vows. How about you?"

"I'll leave you in control of the flowers. My special touch . . . ah . . . I was born in December, so my birthstone is turquoise. Maybe we can implement that into the color scheme of the whole event?"

"Sounds good." Vasquez looked out at the fountain in the center of the memorial. "It also sounds like something really far away. Kinda like being here in D.C.; you hear about it for a long time, and then you start to think it might not be real. At least with places, you have some idea that they're real. With a wedding and kids and that sort of happiness . . . there's a chance that might not ever happen. We're Marines." She took a breath. "What if something happened to one of us? What if I get discharged before you, or you get discharged before me?"

"We set up a meeting place," I said.

"Where, smartass?"

"How about . . . here. We move here, and we wait for the other to come."

"Are you sure this doesn't sound farfetched or stupid?"

"I'm positive, but only if you're willing to do it with me."

"Fine. It sounds kind of delusional, but if it works, it works."

In the time we were sitting at the memorial, not a lot of people showed up. We both started feeling a little uncomfortable sitting in the sun, and when we stood up, we became aware of the fact that we were sticky from sweat. After pointing out the "designs" the sweat had created in the backs of our shirts, we kept walking, heading in the direction of the Lincoln Memorial.

I was glad I had that talk with Vasquez. It kept her mind off what happened last night, and she seemed to be OK with talking about something that most people would deem as pure fantasy for those in our situation, which is understandable; I think it's hopeless, too, and that's the biggest hurdle I have to jump right now. I have to keep telling myself that I'm not a complete waste of space. A lot of people I know are telling me that, and I wish I could just say "Alright," and let this horrid weight of my past drop from my shoulders. Sometimes, I feel like I've reached a stalemate with it; I can't get rid of it, and it can't do anymore damage than it's already done. That certainly makes me wonder just how broken I am. What would a therapist or psychologist say if I told them all this?

Now that I think about it, should I see a therapist if I leave the Marines? It would probably be the best thing to do. I don't want my past to continue creeping up on me and shoving me down. I want to be happy, especially if my plans in life include marrying Vasquez and starting a family with her. Why is being happy so difficult?

* * *

We walked around the majority of the monuments in that area, and the sun had set by the time we decided to head back to the hotel. While sitting in the train to Crystal City, I remembered how Hicks said he wouldn't mind us dropping by the hospital sometime in the afternoon. It was way past afternoon. We could see him tomorrow, I hoped.

After a quick dinner, we headed up to the hotel, and as I was about to go into my room, Vasquez gently pulled me into her room. I opened my mouth to speak, but she pressed her finger to my lips, saying, "I want tonight to end on a good note."

I shrugged. "I didn't bring any protection."

"Remember the night your replacement smartgunner barged in on us? You left the box in my bathroom, and I brought it with me because I kinda figured we'd being doing this at one point during this trip."

I smirked a little. "Thinking ahead of time. I like that about you. Shouldn't we shower first? We're kinda gross and sweaty."

"How about we do it _in_ the shower?"

"Ah, no. I think that'd be a little uncomfortable. Tell you what, you shower here, I'll shower in my room, and make sure Hudson hasn't killed anyone."

The good news is that Hudson didn't kill anyone during the day, but he had certainly been busy. I had to wait for him to get out of the shower, and I opened the little refrigerator to find a six-pack of beer, three water bottles, a twelve-pack of chocolate pudding cups, a tiny container of ice cream, and a half-eaten box of Oreo cookies.

"That's mine, man, don't touch."

I looked over my shoulder to see Hudson standing behind me with a towel wrapped around his waist. "You're not eating twelve fucking cups of pudding," I said.

"I'm not eating it all at once. It's just for if I get the midnight munchies. Plus, I don't feel as lethargic if I take my meds with food."

"That makes no sense. You _always_ feel tired with a full stomach."

"If you eat like a pig, man. Tomorrow's the last fucking pill anyway." Hudson took a bottle from the fridge. "Where'd you and Vasquez go? I went next door a couple hours ago, and she wasn't there, so I assumed she was with you."

"We just walked around the monuments."

"And you didn't invite me? You know I'm still here, too, man."

"We didn't think of it."

"So, you forgot about me?"

"No. We just . . . thought it'd be better if it was just the two of us."

Hudson glared at me while popping the cap off with a bottle opener. "Well, now I can see why people think you and her are dating."

"We're not dating." I rolled my eyes. "We've been friends for a long time. We're close, but we're not dating."

"OK, if you were dating, would you tell me?"

I gulped, unable to think of a good answer. It's a yes-or-no question, right? "Why should I tell you?"

"Because we're friends, and we trust each other. If I was sleeping with someone, I'd tell you."

Knowing Hudson, he probably would tell me if he was sleeping with someone. Hell, he tells me a lot of things that most people wouldn't tell their regular friends (I still can't get over the fucking bat heart thing). That just makes me feel like a bad friend, and it brought me back to the conversation I was having with Vasquez at the World War II memorial; I imagine that if we leave the Marines, we'd be more open about our relationship. We might even tell some of our former comrades that we're dating, and that we had been secretly seeing each other. I can't see Hudson taking that well, because he would assume that I didn't trust him. To make matters worse, I was quick to trust _Delhoun_ with the fact that Vasquez and I are dating. Poor Hudson would be pissed, considering we've known each other longer than I've known Delhoun.

It's a matter of personality. Delhoun is quiet, not driven by impulse, and has guarded plenty of secrets. Hudson, on the other hand, would probably blurt out to everyone that I'm dating Vasquez. It wouldn't take much to pry that secret from him. At the same time, though, I did trust him with some of the thoughts I had during my first trip to D.C., mainly about how I was feeling so low that I wanted to be thrown out a window. So far, he hasn't told anyone about that.

Maybe it's time I trust him with another secret. However, I can't just tell him; I'll have to get Vasquez's permission first.

If all goes well, I'm going to have to brace myself for Hudson to lose his shit, without the help of foreign hormones. "Well, the truth is that Vasquez and I aren't sleeping together," I said. "We're just close friends after going through a lot of shit together."

Finally, Hudson bought it. "If you say so, man."

 _That's right; take it and swallow it, buddy. The truth is going to hurt a lot more._

I was a little surprised that he didn't ask where I was going after my shower, but it definitely made feel like the trust in our friendship was only going one way.

* * *

"What took you so long?" Vasquez asked when she opened the door.

"Talking to Hudson," I replied. "Look, I know now probably isn't a good idea to discuss this, but . . . I think we should tell him."

"Tell him what?"

"That we're . . . together."

"No. Absolutely not. Hudson is the last person on Earth I would tell."

"I know he doesn't seem trustworthy to you, but he's putting a lot of trust in me, and I'm not reciprocating that. Besides, you don't feel like you can trust Miranda, but-"

"You _had_ to tell her. That's different. We could lose our jobs if Hudson blabbed to the rest of the unit that you and I have slept together."

"How do you know that?"

"Have you gone blind, Drake? Have you seen how he acts when we're grouped with everyone else? He doesn't shut up. All it would take is one slip, and we're done."

I sighed, but I was also relieved because I didn't feel any more obligated to tell Hudson. "Alright. I'm . . . sorry for bringing it up. Right before sex, too, that certainly wasn't smart on my part."

"Oh, relax. It's not like we were talking about breaking up."

"True." I mentally told myself that I shouldn't bring this up again, and all I could do was hope I didn't have to. While getting into bed, I thought about what I could do to distract Hudson. He seemed pissed that we didn't invite him on our walk, so I figured that in the morning, I would take him down to the mall and let him use that gift card.

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: Should Drake tell Hudson? Or do you think Hudson secretly knows?_

 _Author's Note: Good news, I'm on AvPGalaxy, under the name TheSailingRabbit. I'm going to post my work on the fanfiction forum, and try to connect with other fans, but I'm definitely not abandoning this.  
_

 _It's cute and sad at the same time having Drake and Vasquez talk about the future. Cute because I would love to write that, and sad because everyone knows that's not going to happen._


	10. Chapter 10

Little things you think about during the day can have a major impact on your dreams. My dreams were all over the place, starting first with me walking into Hicks's room. I was holding a wrapped box, and I don't know what was in that box. It must've been a present of some sort. What was in the box wasn't the main focus, though; as I got closer to the bed, I noticed Hicks was lying rather stiffly, with his mouth hanging open. My heart skipped a beat when I saw that it wasn't Hicks at all, but a highly accurate plastic doll. It was very light, too, which I found as I lifted the doll's right arm.

I was so bewildered by this that I started examining it more closely, but I jumped when I pressed the space between its chest and belly; silver fluid began to pour from its mouth. Even though I wasn't touching it anymore, the fluid continued to spill, running onto the sheets and dripping from the bed to the floor.

Unable to watch anymore, I screamed, and ran from the room. I kept running until I left the building, and jumped into a stopped taxi by the sidewalk. "Get me out of here!" I yelled.

The driver turned around to face me. Lo and behold, it was Hicks, and not in plastic form. He was wearing a black suit and tie. "Hey, take it easy, Drake," he said. "We're on time."

"On time for what?"

"For your wedding."

My dream self was silent as we drove from D.C. to a lush-looking tropical paradise. I could hear the gentle lapping of the waves against the shore, and I could smell the salty air. Combined with that was the tart scent of oranges. Peering out the window, I saw a large white tent, and it was rimmed with tiny orange blossoms.

Hicks stopped just in front of the tent. "I'll get the door for you."

"I'm not ready," I whispered. Then I gave a nervous laugh. "I-I'm not even dressed right . . ."

"She's not gonna care," Hicks replied. "Go on. Everyone's waiting."

I suddenly felt like someone punched me in the stomach. Without much of a warning, I burst into tears, and threw my arms around Hicks, howling, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry . . . I'm so sorry!" I drew in a ragged breath, tears and snot covering my face. "I'm so sorry."

I've heard all sorts of crap about how dreams can have very deep psychological meanings, but there are so many theories that it's impossible to figure the meaning of something. I personally think it depends on the context and overall scenario of the dream itself, as well as what's going on in your life at the moment. It could also be your subconscious making oatmeal out of everything you've seen, done, and thought about that day.

Seeing a plastic model of Hicks puking silver probably means I'm still deep-down terrified of something bad happening to him. The wedding is just my brain tossing my conversation with Vasquez into the oatmeal. Breaking down crying and hugging Hicks while yelling "I'm sorry" is likely something I really want to do, but refuse to. I don't think I've ever told him that I'm sorry for pushing him away when he was trying to help me those few days before the Moon mission, and I'm feeling legitimately guilty over it.

I woke up from the dream feeling confused and a little nervous. Vasquez was still sleeping, and I spent the next half-hour or so writing down some of my thoughts from yesterday. It was only six in the morning (a lot later than I thought it was), but I was bored and starting to feel like my written thoughts were rambling. Maybe it was mean, but I gently shook Vasquez awake. "Hey. Good morning."

Without making a sound, she looked up at me. "Good morning, Drake. Why're you up so early?"

"It's not early. We're up earlier than this on base."

"Who cares? It's early." She slowly sat up to kiss my cheek. "How'd you sleep?"

"Pretty good, surprisingly. You?"

"I woke up once around midnight. Sat by the window for a few minutes to admire the view, and then went back to bed. Had a strange dream, though." Vasquez rubbed her face. "I dreamt I was pregnant, and sitting in a lawnchair in the backyard of this small house a hill. The hill was overlooking the prettiest small town you've ever seen. It was warm, and you had set the Goddamn grill on fire."

I smirked. "Doesn't sound as strange as mine. I dreamt Hicks was my chauffeur to our wedding. Yours sounded a lot less weird than mine."

"Drake, I said I dreamt I was _pregnant_. I'm not . . . I'm not ready for that. Not yet. I want to be mentally prepared before that."

"It was only a dream. I guess our brains kinda dwelled a bit too much on the conversation we had yesterday." I kissed Vasquez's forehead. "I'm gonna go check on Hudson. Today's the last day he has to take that pill, so I thought we'd celebrate by giving him a gift card to Dunkin' Donuts. Is it alright if it's just me and him?"

"Sure. I don't care."

"Later, all three of us can go visit Hicks. He said he wanted to see you and Hudson."

"Alright, then."

I was about to get out of bed and go next door, but I realized I didn't have on any pants. Those were kind of important considering I had Hudson's gift card in my pocket. "Honey, where'd I leave my pants?"

"On the floor, sweetheart."

"Thanks, baby."

* * *

Of course, it came as no surprise that Hudson was still sleeping. I decided to wait, and make it look like I had been in the room the whole night. As I watched Hudson, I wondered what Apone would think if he was here. I don't think he'd be too impressed that just because Hudson was no longer on base, that meant he could lose all sense of dignity (although, if you think about it, he lost his dignity when he was used as a guinea pig and given a pill loaded with Annexer hormones). I waited ten minutes before shaking Hudson awake, saying, "Get up. I got something for you."

Grunting, Hudson turned to look at me. "What, man?"

I pulled the gift card out of my pocket. "Did I, or did I not keep my promise?"

After taking a moment to let his senses wake up, Hudson took the card from me. "Well, it took you longer than you said it would."

"Quit your bitching and just say 'thank you.' I thought I'd wait till the last day you have to take that pill, so we can celebrate."

"Thanks, man." Hudson sat up. "Gimme the bottle. May as well take that little fucking devil now."

Finding the pill bottle on the bathroom sink, I filled a glass of water, and brought the two items out to Hudson, who was already out of bed and getting dressed. He adjusted his T-shirt before taking the bottle and unscrewing the cap. Dumping the pill in his palm, he stared at it for a moment. "It's been fun, but I'm ready to feel normal again." He put the pill on his tongue, and tipped his head back to pour the water in, almost like he was taking a shot of well-aged bourbon.

I sighed. "Alright, you took your last pill. Can we go eat now?"

"Yeah. Is Vasquez up?"

"I don't know."

"Don't lie to me, man. I heard you come in before waking me up. You were with her, weren't you?"

"I wasn't."

"Then, where were you, man?"

At this point, he may as well have punched me in the ribs. I sat on the bed, feeling defeated. This was going to eat at me until I told him the truth. Vasquez would kill me, though. But, I can't be keeping this many secrets from people I claim to trust. Taking a breath, I said, "If I tell you the truth, can you promise not to say anything to anyone? Don't tell Hicks, don't tell Apone, don't tell anyone in our unit, or anyone else in the Marines, got it?"

Hudson nodded.

"Alright . . . well . . . Vasquez and I . . . we're . . . we're dating."

A wide grin crossed Hudson's face. "I knew it. I knew you two were a thing."

I was already regretting this. My cheeks were flushing a deep red color, and I found I was hunching in on myself. Tears were threatening to choke me as regret and embarrassment crushed me from the inside.

"Dude, are you crying?"

Dammit, I was.

"Hey, man, there's no reason to cry." Hudson sat next to me, and hugged me. "Why're you crying?"

"Because I'm digging my own grave here! If I didn't tell you, I was going to look like a crappy friend! Now that I've told you, Vasquez is gonna be pissed!"

"She doesn't think I'm trustworthy?"

"Well, for the longest time, I couldn't blame her! I didn't trust you, either, when we first met, and it stayed that way for two years." The tears and my blushing were making my face uncomfortably warm, like I had a fever.

"But . . . you trust me now."

"That's not the point. The point is that Vasquez doesn't. If she finds out I told you, it . . . it could be all over for us, and I don't want that."

"What if I talked to her? Like, not tell her that you told me 'bout this, but just talked to her about . . . I dunno, ask her how she's doing, ask her 'bout her shoulder. Stuff like that, stuff that sounds like I care."

"Good fucking luck. She'll resist you at every turn."

"I'm still gonna try. This clearly hurts you, man."

Hearing him say that meant so much to me, and it made me cry more. I'll again compare my pain to draining an infection; instead of this being excruciatingly painful and feeling like there was still more pus in the wound, it actually felt like the wound was being cleaned. That feeling is definitely a first for me.

However, there was no way of knowing that Hudson could actually convince Vasquez to trust him. I can only hope and pray that they'll get along and let this weight leave my shoulders.

* * *

Just because I trust Hudson doesn't mean I don't find him to be annoying. After getting breakfast, we found a place to sit and began to talk, and I realized one of the other reasons I didn't want to tell Hudson about me and Vasquez, and that was one question in particular. I don't remember what exactly was said to bring it up, but I do know that he shouldn't have asked it in public.

"So, have you guys fucked?"

Good ol' Hudson. Not holding back on whatever the hell appears in his brain, no matter how dirty or profane it is. The first question he had to ask is whether or not Vasquez and I have had sex. I'm not someone who walks on eggshells, but Hudson could do with some basic manners. Then again, he's not the first person to suspect Vasquez and I are in a relationship; the other Marines have brought it up, and I've heard them talking about how Vasquez is very antisocial and will only spare me from verbal abuse because I "give it to her." I can say that's not true. We've insulted each other, both in front of others and in private.

I should take back what I said about Hudson. He's being a hell of a lot more gentle when it comes to asking about me and Vasquez, and the main difference between him and everyone else is that I actually trust him now. Anyway, I looked at him, and held up three fingers.

"Three times?" he replied.

I nodded.

"Huh. That's a lot less than I thought. No offense, man."

I glared at him. "None taken. You really shouldn't be asking questions like that."

"Sorry. It's kinda something everyone on base talks about, and . . . at least I know the truth now."

"Make sure you keep it to yourself," I said. "What else do you want to know?"

"You guys really love each other?"

"Yep."

Hudson took a sip of his coffee. "You don't seem like the couple that does cutesy things, like hugging or little kisses on the cheek."

"We do that. A lot."

"So, do you-"

"What we do is none of your business. I don't care what everyone else thinks we do, and you are crossing a number of lines by asking these questions, dammit."

"Sorry, man."

"Just eat your breakfast."

"I am." Hudson glanced at me. "You didn't order anything?"

"No. I'm not hungry."

"You gotta eat something."

"What part of 'I'm not hungry' don't you understand?"

" _Why_ aren't you hungry?"

"Do you think I wanted to tell you about me and Vasquez? No, I really didn't, but the fact that you kept trusting me with your crap started making me feel bad. We're friends; I should be able to trust you with certain things about me, but Vasquez and I have kept our relationship under wraps for so long that it's become a daily necessity to keep it hidden. I already broke that by telling Delhoun-"

"Wait, you told Delhoun . . . before telling me?"

"He proved himself trustworthy before you did! And he's not like you. He's not going to tell everyone."

"What makes you think I'd tell everyone about you and Vasquez?"

"You never shut up! It's so easy to get stuff out of you! All you do is talk and annoy people, and I can see you opening your big fat mouth to tell the entire USCM that Vasquez and I are dating! Don't you fucking play Mr. Innocent with me, Hudson. You might be a little different around me, but around everyone else, that changes. S-So either you stay quiet about this, or I'll beat you into the ground! And most importantly, _don't fucking tell me to eat when I tell you I'm not fucking hungry!_ "

It was after I was done yelling that I realized I had been yelling. People passing by were glancing at us, and I suddenly felt like I had been punched in both the chest and stomach. A horrible feeling of dread and regret were coming over me, but at the same time, I was still seething with anger towards Hudson. Baseless anger, sure, but what can you do about it? What really made no sense was that just twenty minutes ago, he had said something that I greatly appreciated; here I was, pretending that didn't happen.

Hudson was staring at me, completely unsure of what to say or do. He sat there, taking the abuse.

I wish I had exhausted my anger, but I hadn't. "Maybe I should beat you now to make sure you stay quiet." That anger was pushing that dread and regret back, forcing it down my throat, so it could come back up with violent force later on.

It didn't take much to find out that trying to beat up Hudson is a bad idea, especially since he still has that medication in his system. As soon as I got up with my right fist clenched, his pupils dilated until there was just a thin gray line surrounding them. He appeared to shrink from me, beads of silver sweat appearing on his forehead as the hormone did its job of forcing out the toxin, while also making him think that I wasn't taking the hint not to get any closer. With that, he lunged at me, tackling me into the floor and holding me down. I guess it was hitting my head against the concrete that made me change my mind, and he could sense it. That didn't mean the hormone's influence had completely left.

Pinning my head down by wrapping his hand around my throat, Hudson was still sweating profusely, but I noticed that the droplets were no longer fully silver. Clear, normal sweat was now running alongside drops that were tinged slightly with silver. The size of his pupils was steadily returning to normal as well. "Listen, man," he hissed, "I've gone through too much shit to even want to break what I fucking forged with you. Get your head outta your ass, Drake. I've told you before that the whole damn world isn't after you. Just trust me!"

I felt my anger slither away to nest in a dark corner of my brain. It left me cold and afraid, realizing that I had done something terrible and irreversible. Looking up at Hudson, I prayed that he could see my regret, and I prayed that he'd forgive me.

When he let go of me, I wasn't sure what to do. I had an overwhelming desire to run away, and I couldn't bring myself to say anything. I couldn't tell if this was my last straw. Was this the last nail in the coffin of me destroying myself? Again, I wasn't sure, but I was sure about one thing: running. Running and not looking back. Running and not being sure where I was going.

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: Should telling Hudson lead to a "domino effect?" Should Drake tell Hicks, or is that impossible due to Hicks's rank and leadership position?_

 _Author's Note: To the guest that asked about the Annexers, I had been wanting to make a rodent-like species for some time, and I incorporated several seemingly random things into the design that sharply contrasts them with species introduced in the Alien universe. Some of those things include World War II German gas masks, fake rat skeletons, fruit bats, and Umbreon (the hormone used in the medicine is based on several of Umbreon's Pokédex entries that state it sprays poison from its pores, Annexers don't "spray" their hormone, but it's secreted into their fur).  
_

 _I was originally going to introduce the Polar Annexer into the plot of "Grey Hearts," but found the Mathias/Miranda storyline more interesting and wasn't sure how to add both without making the story more convoluted than it already was. In waiting, I've come up with several other breeds that I hope to add, such as the Feral/Urban and Jungle Annexers. The name is simply a play on the word "annex," meaning "to add."_


	11. Chapter 11

I had run blindly to the other end of the mall. My thoughts were echoing in my head. It was almost like they were yelling at me. Every self-berating thing I've ever thought about myself was screaming louder and louder, pushing me back into the darkest recesses of my mind. The horrible thoughts just kept coming. Tears were stinging my eyes. The more I ran, the worse I felt.

When I exited the mall, I ran until I came to a small park. Still, my thoughts were following me, grabbing at me with black talons. I wasn't sure what to do. I felt like I was choking . . .

No. No, no, no.

Just the _analogy_ of being choked, combined with my self-deprecating thinking, was taking me back to that lab with the silver flowers. Every muscle in my chest tightened, and my knees weakened. Slowly, I sank to the ground, hugging my chest, struggling to breathe. I huddled under a tree, my back pressed against a small brick structure hold a variety of flowers and bushes. My heart was pounding, and every bad memory involving the silver flowers played out in my head, seemingly in front of me. I could hear Delhoun smashing the glass of the lab doors to get me out. I could see Hudson trying to grab me after I found him partially conscious in that abandoned building. Added on was seeing Hicks lying in his bed on base, looking pale and feverish after breathing in the fumes of a decaying flower. I could still hear the bubbling mucus and his raspy breathing. I grabbed my head, resisting the urge to scream. I wanted to end it all.

I didn't notice a young man approaching me. His cheeks were rosy red, and a messy black backpack was slung over his shoulder. With a concerned look on his face, he knelt by me, and said, "Are you OK?"

Without thinking, I shook my head.

"Is it your heart?"

"N-No." More tears rolled down my face. I felt like I was becoming more and more vulnerable.

He looked me up and down. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"I . . . I've done something wrong." Everything came spilling out. I told him about how I felt like a failure and I couldn't do anything right. I told him about how I was completely useless. You know the details by now, and you also know that since I'm sitting here, writing this, that I eventually snapped out of it, but not before having a brush with one of my darkest thoughts. "I just want this cycle to stop."

The young man thought for a moment. He then looked around, making sure there was no one watching. "I can help you with that."

My hands were still shaking as I took them away from my chest. "H-How?"

He opened his backpack, and pulled out a handgun. "With this. Takes only one shot. No more worrying about your problems." Seeing my hesitation, he frowned. "What? You wanna keep falling into a panicky mess? Haven't you tried everything to make yourself look and feel better?"

"I . . . don't know."

"There's no point in wasting time and money on something that doesn't work. Putting one bullet into your brain works. Remove yourself from the world. Prevent yourself from further embarrassing everyone around you."

The grip of the talons of panic suddenly went slack. The muscles in my chest relaxed. My thoughts retreated, flying screaming into the back of my mind, like the ghosts you see fleeing the windows of a haunted house in a Halloween diorama. A single, powerful thought floated around, saying, _Don't do this. There are people who love you. Killing yourself isn't going to fix the problems between you and Hudson. It won't settle the differences you have with Hicks. You do have value among your squad; don't take that away. What about Vasquez? After your talk yesterday, don't you think that's a good reason to live?_

I thought about the dream I had last night where Hicks was driving me to my wedding. I want to experience that. More than anything, I want to be able to go on into the civilian world to start my life over. I want to be happy with myself. I want to redeem myself, not cower in fear over the mountain of mistakes I've made. I want to marry the woman I love, and I can't do that if I give in my fear and self-loathing.

I handed the gun back to the strange young man. "No. I'm not hurting myself." As my panic continued to fade and my common sense regained control, something seemed familiar about the young man, and it lay in his cheeks. I distinctly remember _Jenzi_ was lightly tanned, but his cheeks were redder than the rest of his face.

A different kind of panic began to surface as Jenzi turned the gun on me, putting the muzzle to my forehead. "You're with Hicks, aren't you, Drake?" he hissed. "Don't try to lie to me! I know you, Hudson, and Vasquez are with Hicks!"

"We can settle this like adults, can't we?" I said. "Hicks was only trying to help you-"

"Hicks is a liar, and a selfish, thieving bastard! Couldn't get me a transfer, _bullshit!_ Somehow, the son-of-a-bitch got himself a fucking transfer! He-"

As Jenzi was distracted with his rant, I took the opportunity to grab his arm and point the gun in the air. "Alright, buster, we're either going to deal with this maturely, or I'm gonna rip you a new asshole. You put that fucking flower in Hicks's bag, right? You realize killing him isn't gonna solve any of your Goddamn problems, right? You're already in enough trouble by attempting to kill him; let's not make it worse. Trust me, kid, you don't want to go to prison."

"I'd rather go prison knowing Hicks got what he deserved!"

"Really? You think that after you threatened him when he tried to help you, he deserves death, of all things? How would you feel if you were in his position?"

"Why should that matter?" When I didn't give him an answer, Jenzi tried to point the gun back at me. "You can't even seem to defend him."

"Well, I certainly have no reason to defend you, asshole," I replied, "considering you tried to get me to shoot myself, and you tried murdering my friend. I've got enough shit going on in my life, and your shenanigans are putting a damper on me trying to move on."

"Boo-fucking-hoo." Jenzi backhanded me sharply across the face. "No wonder you and Hudson had to be replaced! Is that all you do? Whine about your personal problems? Why the fuck are you a Marine if you can't handle yourself? Your emotions are not important, Drake! No one fucking cares!" He slapped me again. "They're just a fucking hindrance!"

I was beginning to think that Jenzi simply didn't have the balls to straight-up kill someone, or at least, he didn't want to be around to actually witness the death; that's probably why he chose a slow method like the flower for Hicks. A normal person would've shot me by now.

Since it appeared Jenzi couldn't or wouldn't actually kill me, I punched him in the jaw. As he reeled and spit blood on the ground, I gave him a hard kick to the stomach. He didn't get back up; instead, he was on his knees, grunting. It was really tempting to just take the gun and deal with Jenzi myself, but General Russell had stated that the USCM wanted Jenzi alive for questioning. Somehow, I needed to restrain him before contacting Russell.

Well . . . I guess the gun wasn't completely useless. Taking the gun from Jenzi, I aimed it at his lower back. "Alright, here's the deal: you've got no chance of winning or escaping here. You move, and I'll paralyze you from the waist down. Now, you're gonna get up, and I'm gonna lead you to USCM headquarters, got it?"

Jenzi glared at me. "You're a cocksucking, good-for-nothing coward. I bet you hit your woman right after you fuck her. In fact, I bet you like being under Hicks, and not in the sense of rank."

"What're you trying to do? Piss me off? It's not working. Get the fuck up before I blow out the bottom half of your spine." I grabbed Jenzi by the back of his shirt collar. I knew I needed to get ahold of Russell quickly, because God only knows if I could restrain Jenzi for a long period of time.

Glancing at me, Jenzi said softly, "Drake . . . maybe we can . . . we can talk this out, huh? Put the gun down and we can talk this through rationally?"

"Why the sudden change of heart?" I asked.

"I dunno. Something hit me. Please, I have something that could help Hicks. I was gonna use it on myself if something went wrong. It's in my bag. Just let me get it out. I'll give it to you, I promise."

I lowered the gun, but kept it pointed at Jenzi's right thigh. An antidote to the silver flower-especially a quick one-sounded too good to be true, but, hey, if Jenzi somehow snuck a dead flower in Hicks's bag, maybe he had a real antidote, too. "If you're lying to me, I'll hurt you, do you understand? No funny tricks."

Jenzi nodded, and slid his backpack from his shoulders. He turned around, and opened the bag, taking out a small, cylindrical glass case.

In that case was a silver flower, suspended in stasis.

There was a sudden flash of memories. The panic that had gone to rest earlier emerged in full-force, grabbing me tightly. " _G-Get it away from me!_ " I howled after dropping the gun. Nervously, I backed away, struggling to discern between real life and flashbacks. I heard Delhoun yelling for me to hang on as he tried to bust me out of the lab. I could hear Hudson choking as I carried him out of that abandoned building. My hands seemed to heat up as the recent memory of carrying a feverish Hicks to sick bay sprang up. The glints of sunlight against the windows of the Marriott reminded me of the glittering in his gray-green eyes as his temperature gradually increased.

I was sobbing like a child. I was cowering as Jenzi walked closer, holding the flower in its little stasis tube.

"You see now how your emotions hold you back, Drake? You're too scared to do anything, now, just like Hicks was too scared to just put up with the shit his former unit threw at him! I'm not surprised he went on to join a unit full of cowards and losers." Jenzi bent down to pick up the gun, and set the stasis tube on the ground in front of me. He continued glowering as I squirmed, trying move away. Shoving the gun in his bag, Jenzi took off running, and I remained where I was, too scared to move.

* * *

I think it's safe to say the majority of my actions that day were shameful. I tried to beat up Hudson, I was almost talked into killing myself, and I suffered a panic attack because Jenzi had a silver flower in a stasis tube.

A woman walking down the path had overheard the yelling and decided to call police, so an officer arrived and had to sent for a hazmat team to deal with the flower. As for me, an ambulance was called because my blood pressure was elevated. At least the medics didn't overreact; they checked my vitals, and talked to me until I calmed down. I was still shaky, but they let me go with no issue.

So, because of my fear of the silver flower, Jenzi got away. Like a bad twist in a thriller novel.

I felt mentally and physically drained when I went back into the mall. I know Jenzi should be the more important thing to worry about here, but I was beginning to worry about Hudson and Vasquez. I went back to the spot where Hudson and I fought, and saw Hudson wasn't there. At least he had the common courtesy to clean up his garbage. I went up into the hotel to see if he was in our room, and found he was sitting on one of the beds, watching TV and eating his Oreos. He glanced at me, but didn't say anything. I took that as a nonverbal way of saying, "I don't want to talk to you right now."

Because of that, I decided to talk to Vasquez. She had to know. There was no excuse for me to not tell her that I told Hudson about our relationship. I waited patiently after knocking on the door, but I got no answer. Steadily, I became concerned, and began heading toward Delhoun's room, wondering if he had any idea where she was.

Before I could knock on the door, I heard someone sobbing, and it took me a second to realize it was Vasquez. I then heard Delhoun say, "You really don't trust Hudson, do you?"

"No!" Vasquez shouted. "I even told Drake last night that I don't want him telling Hudson! I don't know where he got that idea from. Something about how he's not giving the same trust to Hudson that he's getting from Hudson."

"Have you ever tried to look at this from Drake's point of view? Clearly, he's made a bond with Hudson and doesn't think keeping secrets is a good way to strengthen that bond."

"Who cares? He promised he'd never . . . tell anyone." Vasquez's voice trailed off.

"You forgot he told me?"

There was silence from Vasquez, and she continued to cry. "I guess I accepted it because you're not part of our unit. You don't make vulgar jokes about me and Drake and you don't poke fun at us. You're not . . . around us all the time. Hudson . . . Hudson's different. I've never felt like I could trust him with anything personal. Professional, military stuff? Yes, but . . . nothing personal. He'd never keep it to himself."

"Lucky for you, I've had the chance to see Hudson and Drake's relationship develop, during the week you were gone. You'd be surprised at how much Drake trusted Hudson with, and judging by how they've acted toward each other in the first few days we've been here, I'm theorizing he hasn't blabbed to any of your comrades."

"Delhoun, I really appreciate you trying to help, but . . . that doesn't mean anything to me."

"It should. Why? Drake is your boyfriend. This isn't about whether or not you can trust Hudson. This is about whether or not you trust the man you love, being Drake. I don't think Drake would tell anyone about you and him unless he felt like he could trust them. Don't you think you should trust him?" There was more silence, and Vasquez must've nodded, because Delhoun continued with, "Exactly. What's done is done, darling. You can't make Drake take back what he said, and you can't wipe Hudson's memory. You'll just have to accept it. Who knows? Maybe this'll change your bond with Hudson for the better."

"I hope so. Thanks for letting me talk, Delhoun. Quick question, when would be a good time for the three of us to see Hicks?"

"After lunch, I suppose. Hornby said he's going to try to slowly introduce solid food back to Hicks today. Not sure how that'll go, considering he's testing small samples of the medication on him as well. I'll be down at the Metro around twelve-thirty. Meet me there, and tell Drake and Hudson."

"Alright. Again, thank you." Vasquez opened the door, and jumped when she saw me. Angry that she had jumped, she forced herself to appear as though nothing had happened, and looked down at the floor before looking up at me. "Hi."

"Hi," I said.

"Let me guess . . . you were listening to my conversation with Delhoun."

I nodded.

"Yeah. I overheard you talking to Hudson this morning." Vasquez returned her gaze to the floor. "You really trust him?"

"I learned to trust him over the last month or so. It wasn't smooth sailing, that's for sure, but we got there." I put my arm around her. "I'm sorry. I should've thought this through, and talked to you before saying anything to Hudson."

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it now. Can you promise not to say anything to anyone else? I know you're trying to get cozy with Hicks, but you are not going to say anything."

"I promise."

"You better keep that, too."

"I will. Relax, OK?" I kissed Vasquez's forehead. "I think this means we should talk this out with Hudson, just so we're all on the same page."

* * *

 _Question of the Chapter: How would the encounter with Jenzi go differently if Hudson was present?_


	12. Chapter 12

I shouldn't bother documenting everything that was said when Vasquez and I sat down with Hudson and talked. There was nothing worth mentioning. We simply agreed that this was going to remain between the three of us, and Vasquez threatened to punch Hudson if he didn't promise to keep quiet. I think we can agree that was a bit of a dumb threat, but at least Hudson said he promised not to tell anyone. We ended up pinky-swearing that this would be kept to the three of us.

What we discussed after, I'll write down. Hudson and I explained that we kinda got into a fight, and I ran away. I then told both of them about Jenzi, and in order for it to make sense, I told them just about every detail, including some of the stuff going on in my head.

I noticed that the air seemed to be sucked from the room when I described how upset I was, how I was teetering on the edge of just wanting all that pain to go away.

"Kinda like how you panicked in the hallway a few days ago," Hudson said.

"No, it sounds almost exactly like that," Vasquez replied. She sat next to me, rubbing my shoulder.

When I finished telling them about Jenzi, I wrapped it up with, "I'm sorry I failed to catch him. It was my own stupid fears that . . . got in the way."

"Don't blame yourself for that, man," Hudson replied.

"Why should I not blame myself? If Jenzi's loose, that means he has a greater chance at being able to hurt Hicks. I don't want to be responsible for that."

"He played on your worst fear. It's no different from when we're on a task; we could have a good plan, a good amount of firepower, but if the enemy knows any of our weaknesses, they'll exploit them by any means, and that could send everything into a Goddamn tailspin," Vasquez said, gripping my shoulder tightly. "The only way we're going to keep Jenzi from hurting Hicks is by going out there and finding him."

"This is a major city. That's like trying to find a needle in a haystack." Hudson tossed the cookies back in the fridge, and then paused for a moment, slowly closing the fridge door. "Although, one thing that might help would be finding the registration code of that signal enhancer he bought. I can link it to a satellite and that should allow us to track him."

"Yeah. If he has the enhancer on him."

"Even if he doesn't, he could be trying to use it to damage hospital equipment," I said. "Whether he's still carrying it or not, we should go get that code. The next step is how do we link it to a satellite?"

"General Russell did say he'll give us stuff if we need it. I think he'll let me use the USCM global positioning system." Hudson grinned. "I've always wanted to play with one of them big-ass dishes."

* * *

It didn't take us long to go down to the mall, get the code from the tech shop, and hop on the Metro to the Pentagon. As we left Crystal City, my mind finally caught up to my body, and I remembered I hadn't eaten anything since last night. That sudden realization made me feel a little lightheaded, but what made it worse was the fact that I hadn't drank any water since last night, either.

I'm not all that surprised. It's kind of a habit for me to start neglecting my basic needs if I start dwelling on an emotional problem, but now I'm starting to wonder if this is an indicator that I may actually be suffering from post-traumatic stress. I hope it's not; I hope it's just me being stupid and thinking my physical needs matter less than my mental ones. At the same time, I know that my physical and mental needs go hand-in-hand-if one isn't dealt with, the other will certainly suffer.

When we arrived at the Pentagon, I was tempted to ask Russell for food or water. Then, I remembered how hard he pushed me when he was evaluating me for my medal. Part of me thought that he would loosen up because I already got the medal, but another part of me was thinking that he still had high expectations of me.

I can wait.

Unfortunately, Hudson had to get permission from three high-ranking officers in order to use the USCM's GPS. He got permission from Russell, and we had to go around to find officers ranked major and above. Russell led us to the main office of a gentleman called Colonel Hardy. Much like Russell, Hardy's uniform was decorated in ribbons and medals. He was a short, skinny man with thick, dark-blond hair and bright, hazel eyes, which were lined with dark circles. I noticed small tinges of gray near his temples, and I immediately thought he was going to give us a hard time about using the GPS.

Russell explained the situation, and Hardy was silent. After listening, though, he opened his laptop, and pulled up Hudson's personal files, along with a list of weekly reports submitted by Apone. Hardy glanced at us, thin lips pursed. "Private Hudson, I understand you're in charge of combat tech during any given operation?"

"Yes, sir," Hudson replied.

"Your performance in combat and rescue missions is spectacular. Your behavior on-base, on the other hand, is a bit of a different story. Honestly, you have one of the most outrageous complaint records I've ever seen."

The confidence began to fade from Hudson's face.

"I can't help but say I'm a little impressed. In fact, it reminds me a lot of when I was a private." Hardy looked at Hudson. "I'm certainly not condoning this behavior, though. I'll give you permission to use the GPS, as long as you tone it down back home, just a little."

"Will do, sir." Hudson held out his hand, and Hardy took it.

Vasquez looked at me, and shook her head, whispering, "This is unbelievable."

"He's giving the colonel some nostalgia," I said. "Nothing wrong with that."

We were then led to another colonel, who also read through Hudson's files. Unlike Hardy, he wasn't at all impressed with Hudson's on-base antics, but gave him permission to use the GPS anyway. With that, Russell walked us down to a massive control room, where we were ordered not to touch anything. He told Hudson to sit in front of several giant monitors, and gave him a list of access codes and a headset.

"You break it, you buy it," I said.

"I highly doubt he's got five-point-two billion dollars on him," Russell muttered.

Hudson adjusted the headset before punching in the access codes, and pulled the registration number for the signal piece out of his pocket. "Moment of truth, ladies and germs, let's see if this thing is real." He pressed the "enter" key after putting in the code, and we waited as the enormous dish angled itself towards Washington. After the dish focused on the city, the same image was projected on another monitor, but with a grid. A 3-D display of Washington was then shown on a third monitor, followed by a thermal map and a weather map. Finally, a blue dot appeared on each screen, pinpointing us to an office building across the street from the hospital Hicks was staying at. "And, ta-da! There's our signal enhancer."

"Now what?" Vasquez asked.

"Now, we . . ." Hudson paused, his voice trailing somewhat as he slowly pressed the headphones against his ears. He then took the headset off. "That's . . . weird. Here, take a listen-it sounds like a voice."

Vasquez put the headset on, listened for a few seconds, and then took it off. "I don't hear anything."

I took my turn, and all I heard was static. "No, I don't hear a thing, either. Just static."

"I'm telling you, man, there's a voice on there," Hudson said.

"What does the voice sound like?" Russell asked.

"It's kinda slow and robotic. Creepy, too."

Russell gestured for one of the technicians to come over and have a listen. The tech guy listened for well over a minute, and said, "I'm not hearing anything that sounds like a voice."

"I'm not crazy and I'm not hallucinating," Hudson replied. "Swear to God, man."

"We're not dismissing you, but we really can't hear anything," I said.

"Wait a minute," Vasquez held up her hands, "remember when we were in the stratoplane? The plane's designed so you don't feel the effects of pressure as you gain and lose altitude, but Hudson's ears popped. I think he might actually be hearing something that we can't."

"I don't think air pressure has anything to do with frequency," Russell said. "What're you implying, Vasquez? Hudson can hear things at a much higher frequency?"

"I think it's due to his medication," I added. "Annexers' senses heighten when they become stressed; Hudson has that hormone still circulating, so it's possible that this is all due to the presence of the hormone."

"Then, contact that damn doctor friend of yours. He's the expert on the rodents, right?"

It was a bit of a pain in the ass to get ahold of Delhoun, who was at the hospital. When he was finally on the other line, I carried the phone over to where Hudson was commanding the satellite. "I hope I'm not interrupting something important," I said. "We have a little bit of a situation."

"You're not interrupting anything, trust me," Delhoun replied. "What's going on?"

I explained to him about Jenzi and how we were trying to track him using the USCM's GPS, and that Hudson was hearing a voice through the headset even though no one else could. "I think it's the medicine," I concluded.

"The only way for me to see if that's true would be to run a few tests on Hudson," Delhoun said. "I don't think it's entirely impossible, though . . . does it sound like words?"

I looked at Hudson. "Can you hear any actual words?"

Everyone fell silent as Hudson concentrated real hard on the sound in the headset. He then grabbed a pad of sticky notes, and began jotting stuff down. Glancing at me, he gave me the notepad.

"It looks like he can," I said. "Doesn't look like a full message, though. It says, 'Tight security around, jammer radio, no point bomb, cut Marines, two males and one injured female, silence, Metro, crystal, Marriott, hostages.'" I found myself trying to put the puzzle pieces together, and it was making me a little sick.

"Well, all this seems way too specific to be a hallucination," Delhoun replied. "In fact, I think I have an idea as to what's going on; Jenzi is using androids. Most models are capable of hearing things on a multitude of frequency levels, so he could be communicating with them in a way that people can't pick up on it. Even the USCM's equipment would cast it off as static or gibberish."

"Wouldn't an android here be able to pick it up and understand it?"

"If they're near the path of the signal, yes."

I looked at Hudson. "Can you try adjusting the receiver frequency? Maybe the message will come in clearer."

Nodding, Hudson pushed a couple of keys, and then became still. He listened to the message, took a breath, and removed the headset. "You might wanna sit down for this. The message went like this: 'There is tight security around the hospital. The jammers must be disabled by tomorrow evening through the enhanced radio. Plan scrapped; there's no point for the bomb. Destroy it ASAP. Cut off the Marines. There are two males and one injured female. Maintain radio silence until you reach the Metro at oh-nine-hundred. They are staying at the Crystal Gateway Marriott. If you can, hold them hostage for a minimum of twelve hours.'"

Russell folded his arms over his chest. "They didn't say what train line they were going on?"

"Nope."

"Well, you can get to Crystal City on the blue and yellow lines, but they could be transferring from other lines along the way."

"You can't shut down the Metro for three people," Vasquez said. "Thousands of people use it to go to work, and we're not . . . we're not exactly important."

"You come up with a way to keep yourselves safe, then," Russell replied. "I don't care if you're a general or a brand-spanking-new recruit; you're still Marines, and if there's a way to keep you from getting hurt, dammit, I'll do it."

"Do you think there's enough time to get it out there that the blue and yellow lines'll be closed?" Hudson asked. "They said oh-nine-hundred, and I'm assuming that's tomorrow morning."

"It's worth a shot. People will just have to find another way to get to work."

"Now, what if Jenzi's androids find a way to Crystal City?" I asked.

"You won't be in Crystal City," Russell said. "I'm tasking you with getting in that office building and destroying that radio jammer. I want all three of you back here by oh-five-hundred, do you understand?"

* * *

It must've been three-thirty in the afternoon when we finally decided to visit Hicks, although what made me nervous was that, in one of the buildings across from the hospital, there was a signal jammer waiting to be used. I don't know why we were waiting, but whatever Russell says goes.

Delhoun brought us up to the lab before we could see Hicks. As we entered the room, I could see Ursa Major, the Polar Annexer, watching me from the corner of my eye. Hornby was also there, working front of several large machines, and his right hand was bandaged.

"What the hell happened to you?" I asked.

"Oh, Hicks bit him," Delhoun replied. "I told you Hornby's testing out some modified mixtures of that medication."

"Wait, so he's using Hicks as a guinea pig before giving him the real medicine?"

"What do you expect us to do?" Hornby asked.

"Don't you have a simulator or something?"

"No, we don't. I'm sorry."

I glared at Hornby, not wanting a repeat of when he was holding Hudson. "I hope Hicks bites your other hand, then."

"Grow up, Drake," Vasquez said.

"I'm sorry, I don't exactly want the fucking past repeating itself." I turned to give her a dirty look. "Just like everything else I've done-"

"Can you stop?" Hudson snapped. "Your issues aren't important right now!"

"I know. They never have been." I stormed out of the lab, going across the hall to Hicks's room. Slamming the door shut, I immediately regretted my actions, creating a sudden heaviness in my chest. _Can't put anything aside for just one minute._ I sighed, knowing every situation I touched was going wrong today.

"Hey, Drake."

I looked over my shoulder to see Hicks sitting up in bed, staring at me with concern. "Hey . . ." I replied, somewhat weakly.

"You OK?"

"No."

"Is that why you're here?"

"Technically, no. Hudson and Vasquez and I came to just visit, but they're in the lab with Delhoun and Hornby. It's kind of a long story."

I think Hicks was more than happy that someone was going to tell him a long story, because he's probably bored out of his mind. Leaving out the parts about how Vasquez and I are dating, I simply told him that Hudson and I got into a fight that morning before describing how everything seemed to snowball from there. As much as I didn't want to tell him about how I was so upset that I just wanted everything to stop, I did anyway. To my surprise, Hicks didn't say anything, and let me continue talking until I ended it with my outburst across the hall.

Hicks opened his mouth to say something, but was stopped by the door opening and Vasquez poking her head in. Gently, Hicks said, "Hey, we're kinda busy here. Come back in a few minutes, OK?" He looked back at me when the door closed. "I hope this doesn't sound cheesy or anything, but, I'm glad you're still here. I'm glad Jenzi didn't end up persuading you to shoot yourself. That . . . feeling isn't an easy thing to push past. There're a lot of things that we think that we're afraid to tell people because they might overreact or misinterpret what you're saying. You had the means right in front of you to end your own life, and you didn't do it. Am I still a little bit concerned about you? Yes, but I'm not going to demand that someone watch you all the time. I think what you did shows that you're stronger than your bad thoughts and bad memories. You know that you have a lot to live for, and that there are people who care about you and would be devastated if something happened to you."

"Why don't I feel stronger? Honestly, after . . . after almost losing it in front of Hudson, I feel weaker."

"That's you beating yourself up, and I told you that you need to learn how to stop that. Try to catch yourself whenever you start to think that you're nothing or worthless or people don't care. I know it sounds hard, but you can form a better habit out of it. If you need help, don't hesitate to ask, alright?"

I nodded, even though I was certain his idea wouldn't work. As I sat there, I remembered the dream I had last night, and said, "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For . . . pushing you away when you were trying to help me. That's another thing that's been bothering me. It's probably too late to-"

"Nope. Not too late, Drake. I accept your apology."

I didn't want to throw myself on him like I did in my dream, so I settled for a simple brother-hug. Yeah, in a way, I'm starting to see Hicks as an older brother, something I didn't have growing up. I also think that's the image he wants to have on the rest of the squadron, which, in my opinion, isn't a bad thing to want.

We didn't hear the door open, but we did hear someone say, "Group hug!" before Hudson grabbed both of us.

"No one invited you," I groaned.

"Hudson, what the hell?" Hicks muttered. "Get down."

Of course, Hudson didn't really care. "Hey, man. How're you doing?"

"Better. Can you let go, now?"

Hudson squeezed us tighter. "Not till Vasquez joins in."

"I'm not joining in," Vasquez replied from the other side of the room.

"Please?" I asked. "He won't let go till you do."

Sighing and rolling her eyes, Vasquez joined the group hug. "I can't decide if you're an asshole or a migraine, Hudson."

* * *

 _Question: Does this story diverge from the plot too much? Is there more fluff than actual substance?_

 _Author's Note: I was tempted to simply repost the question from last chapter because I got no response. In fact, there's a part of me that wants to stop the questions altogether, and cut parts of the story that fly away from the plot and make it feel like a completely different story. I had similar feelings about "Blue Moon," and, again, I try not to base my progress on feedback, but it's not a feeling I can completely stop. I think it's something a lot of online writers struggle with, especially when they become used to fairly regular comments. It could just be me being my worst critic and there's really nothing wrong at all-just poor timing._


	13. Chapter 13

Hicks tried to put my mind at ease by telling me that Hornby wasn't performing any of his tests without consent. I'll admit that did make me feel a little better, but not by much, especially when Hicks said he wasn't too keen with the fact that this medicine could turn him into a temporary lunatic.

Hudson can remember whenever his mind becomes controlled by the hormone, but it's not always clear. Again, he was taking a prototype, and Hicks is being given variants of it; the amount of every ingredient has been changed, and different breeds of Annexers are being used for the hormone. As much as we don't like it, it is crucial for flushing the silver flower toxin from the body.

The first test wasn't in pill form for Hicks; Hornby gave him an injection, and the results were almost instantaneous. Misinterpreting Hornby's hand as a threat, Hicks bit down hard on it. The fact that he had bitten Hornby hard enough to break the skin wasn't the worst part, though. Like Hudson, Hicks will be spitting and sweating silver until it's cleared from his system, which meant he could have passed the toxin into Hornby when he bit him.

Despite that, Hornby is running a second test later tonight, with a much lower hormone concentration, and heavy-duty gloves.

"Is he letting you eat yet?" I asked.

"Not really," Hicks replied. "All he's given me are two Saltines every three hours."

I sighed. "He's a fucking botanist, not a medical doctor."

"Do you think I have much of a choice here, Drake? You think I want to stay here for much longer? No, I really don't. The best thing you can do is stay out of Hornby's way. I know a lot of what he's doing sounds cruel and stupid, but he's doing his best. At least he listened to you and Delhoun when you pointed out that there's too much Annexer adrenaline in that medicine."

"Do you have any idea when you might be released?"

"No. Don't bother asking. Just let Hornby do his job, got it? The sooner he can get this done, the better. And, Drake? If you start pulling any stunts, I'll make sure you're punished when we get back to Australia."

* * *

Other than that, we didn't talk much about anything. I might feel very open around Vasquez and Hudson, but there are certain things I'm not ready to tell Hicks yet. By now, I'm sure you know that I'm not telling him about my relationship, but I'm toying with the idea of telling him if and when I leave the Marines. I have a feeling that when we're not colleagues anymore, we'll be able to talk about more personal stuff. Hell, if Vasquez and I have a kid someday, I might ask Hicks to be his or her godfather (I know Hudson probably wants that, but, let's face it, Hicks is more responsible). I can see us inviting him over for Thanksgiving and Christmas and just talking. He's not the kind of guy who'll create arguments. He'd respect that it's our house and our rules. I can see him stopping by when it's flu season and we're all sick, but he offers to do the cleaning and stuff like that. I can see him getting gifts for the kid that have a heavy degree of meaning, and the kid will still have when they're eighteen.

Then again, can I actually see this happening, or are these all scenarios that I just want?

There's probably a lot about himself that Hicks hasn't told me, and he might not be ready to. Everything that I'm "seeing" and just wishing for is all a fucking dream. Shit that might never happen.

I pondered all this as we rode back to the hotel on the Metro. I knew I had to shove it all out of my mind and tell myself to expect the absolute least out of life. Maybe Hicks won't be the same person in a few years. Maybe dreaming is stupid. Maybe I should just give up and let whatever life throws at me hit me in the face. I need to stop pushing so hard.

Hudson wanted to go back to that pizza place for dinner, so instead of taking a short walk to the hotel, we took a long walk through a tunnel to the other side of the mall. At least we had a vague idea of where we were going, and I think that was preventing me from having another breakdown. My lack of a breakdown let my brain analyze everything that had gone on during the day, but I don't think it was functioning at max capacity because I had skipped breakfast and lunch. The lightheaded feeling returned, and my stomach loudly rumbled. _Hicks is eating more than I am at this point,_ I thought.

Whatever depressing thought my brain wanted to focus on was going to have to wait. My headache was so bad that I wasn't going to bother skipping another meal, but I would pay despite Hudson insisting he pay for all of us.

The place wasn't very crowded, at least compared to the first night we arrived in D.C. We were able to find seats that weren't right up against the window, so we didn't have to worry about strangers staring at us.

Well, we didn't have to worry about strangers, but it didn't take us long to notice Miranda was standing in line shortly after we sat down, and she was definitely staring at us. None of us said anything, but once she had her waiting buzzer, she approached us. "Hi, Mark, Jenette."

I could tell Vasquez wasn't fond of people she barely knew referring to her by her first name, but she chose to be polite and simply nodded.

"You must be Hudson," Miranda said when she turned to face him.

Hudson glanced at her, clearly confused and looking unprepared for conversation. "Yeah. William Hudson. Who the fuck're you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Miranda Harrison. I helped Mark when he was here last time." She held out her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. D-Do you mind if I sit here?" She gestured to the empty chair next to Hudson.

"Sure, go ahead," Hudson replied.

"What brings you out here, Miranda?" I asked.

"Boredom, I guess," she said. "But, I did rent a cabin for a week on the bay, so I'm looking forward to that."

"Sounds better than what we're doing."

Vasquez elbowed me in the ribs.

"Ow! Oh, come on! Like sitting around on base and playing water basketball is any better."

"Hey, water basketball's fun, man," Hudson said.

"You could make fun out of cleaning every litter box in Delhoun's facility."

"I bet I could."

To herself, Vasquez muttered something in Spanish about how Hudson probably has the IQ of a rock. I patted her shoulder, and leaned in to subtly kiss her cheek.

"What exactly are you doing here, Mark?" Miranda asked. "Is that still classified?"

"Unfortunately, yeah. Sorry. Actually, I'd tell you if we weren't in a really public place," I replied.

"Does it have something to do with the Metro lines being shut down tomorrow?"

"I can't say."

"We're gonna be busy tomorrow," Vasquez added. "That's all you need to know."

"We might be free tomorrow night, if you wanted to do something."

Again, Vasquez elbowed me hard. "We don't know if we're gonna be free tomorrow night. Don't make promises you can't keep."

"I didn't make any promises, sweetheart."

Hudson stood up. "I'm gonna go . . . get our orders. And a drink. That lemon beer looked pretty good."

Miranda watched Hudson as he left, and then looked at me. "He . . . definitely looks healthier than when I saw him in the lab."

"Yeah, he's been doing alright. Just finished his medicine this morning," I said. "Other than your vacation, what else has been going on?"

"Nothing. I hate living on campus. Until I get Mathias back in the fall, I have to share my apartment. Not fun."

"I can imagine."

"No, you can't. Have you ever had to live with someone who commented on every fucking thing you do?"

I looked at Vasquez. "Well . . . we do that, but it's because we know each other. And love each other." I nuzzled Vasquez's cheek, and she gave me an annoyed glance.

"Yeah, well, I don't know or love my roommate. She's studying to become a pediatrician, probably because she can't have conversations with adults. Everything I do-'Do you always take longer than ten minutes in the shower, Miranda? Why don't you watch this TV show, Miranda? Do you really want to wear that outside, Miranda? Style your hair for once, Miranda, then you wouldn't look so frumpy.'"

"Just punch her," Hudson said as he sat down.

"She's not a Marine," I replied.

"She doesn't have the courage to be one," Miranda muttered, rolling her eyes. "I don't know. Even though I haven't know you guys for very long, I'd . . . I'd rather trust you."

"Thanks."

"Wait, you live here?" Hudson asked.

"Yeah," Miranda said. "I'm studying at Howard University to be a general practitioner and backup surgeon."

"Oh. I do combat tech in my unit. And I can fit eight Oreos in my mouth."

"Yes, Hudson, that's your most impressive achievement," I said.

Miranda didn't seem to mind. "Mark and Jenette were telling me a few days ago about how you're . . . you're like the fun person of the group."

Hudson nodded. "I guess I fill that role. Sarge doesn't like it, but he's gotten used to it." He took a sip of his drink. "Actually, I'll show you one of the things we like to do at the table-you got a pen on you?"

"Yeah." A quizzical look on her face, Miranda took a pen from her jacket pocket, and handed it to Hudson.

"Alright. Lemme see your hand-"

"Hudson, no, not here," I said.

"Relax, man, I'm doing it with a pen, not a knife."

I saw Miranda blush a little when Hudson took her hand. "What exactly are you doing?" she asked.

"Spread your fingers out. I'm just playing a little game." A wide grin crossed Hudson's face as he began tapping the pen quickly into every space between Miranda's fingers. On the other hand, Miranda was flushed red and laughing rather nervously. She covered her face with her other hand, prompting Hudson to say, "If that's your reaction with just a pen, I'd like to see your face if I did this with a knife."

"Um . . . yeah, please don't." Miranda uncovered her face, seeing Hudson handing the pen back to her. "Thanks."

"Trust me, it's a lot more exhilarating with the knife. Even more when Bishop does it."

I snorted. "I bet you could teach that trick to Mathias."

Neither of them were paying attention to me. "I didn't scare you too much, did I?" Hudson asked.

"No, not at all," Miranda replied. "Just . . . wasn't expecting that, that's all. I'm sorry."

"Nah, that's OK. You're a good sport. Most people would shit bricks if I did this to them."

"You shit a brick every time I pin you down to make Bishop do the knife trick on your hand," I said.

"Because he's so Goddamn fast, man."

* * *

I think we spent a little over an hour in the restaurant. Miranda kept asking Hudson questions about the Marines, and he would always answer, no matter how dumb the question sounded. Gradually, the questions went from the Marines to who Hudson was, and, of course, he'd answer, not sparing any details.

Vasquez had her head rested on my shoulder, and I was leaning back with my hands folded over a full stomach. At least the headache was gone, and my brain felt less sluggish. "I'm ready for bed," I whispered. "We gotta get up at the ass-crack of dawn."

"Yep," Vasquez sighed. "But these two look like they're enjoying themselves."

I smirked. "Should we get them a room?"

"Jesus Christ, Drake."

"I'm kidding, sweetheart. They do look like they're enjoying themselves, and I feel bad to have to pull them away."

"Russell's probably gonna kill us if we're not at the Pentagon by five in the morning. Let's get going."

"Five more minutes."

"No." Vasquez grabbed my arm as she stood up. "You can stay in my room tonight."

"OK." I stood up immediately. "Hudson, we need to get going."

"Why, man?" Hudson asked.

"We have to go somewhere in the morning, remember?"

"Oh. Oh, yeah, I almost forgot about that. Um . . ." Hudson glanced at Miranda. "Hey, maybe we can . . . I dunno, go do something tomorrow night, like a baseball game or something."

Miranda didn't reply right away, and kept switching her gaze from the floor to Hudson. "With just you?"

"Well, yeah, I . . . that's what I had in mind. If you want Drake and Vasquez to come-"

"No, no, it can be just you."

"Alright, then, it's a date."

When Hudson got up to leave, I looked over my shoulder to see Miranda looked like she was on the verge of tears again. Sighing, I walked back over to see what was up. "You OK?"

She grabbed a napkin to sob into it. "I don't want to screw this up, Mark."

"Screw what up?"

"Going somewhere with Hudson."

I took a breath, trying to think of something to say. "What exactly are you worried about? That this'll be like every other relationship you've pursued?"

She nodded.

"That's understandable. Hey, not every guy is the same, and trust me when I say Hudson is probably nothing like anyone else you've dated. He can be a little quirky, and obnoxious, but I don't think he'll just drop you after a few months. I think the best advice I have for you is not to try so hard. Looking desperate isn't appealing, and I know that's something you struggle with."

"How can I . . . try less hard?"

"Don't make it obvious you want a relationship with him. Set your bar a little lower, and try to just be friends first. If you want, you can get him a small gift, like a box of cookies or something like that." From the corner of my eye, I saw Vasquez standing in the doorway and glaring at me. "I gotta get going. You'll be fine. Just relax and enjoy yourself."

Of course, before I could go, Miranda gave me a hug. Vasquez was gradually becoming more and more annoyed with me, so I let go of Miranda after a few seconds. When I left the restaurant, I said, "She initiated the hug, not me."

* * *

The phone was ringing at around four-thirty in the morning, and it wouldn't stop. Still holding onto Vasquez, I reached over and grabbed the phone, groaning, "Hello?"

"Are you up?" Russell asked.

"I am now."

"I don't want any smartass remarks from any of you. Get your asses out of bed, get dressed, and get the hell down here."

"Yes, sir." I hung up, and looked at Vasquez. "You heard the man. Let's get our asses out of bed."

"Go wake up Hudson while I get dressed," she replied, sleepily.

"I gotta get dressed, too."

"Well, just put a damn shirt on."

I kissed the tip of her nose. "Don't be so pushy. We got time, right?"

"We have to be at the Pentagon by five. It's four-fucking-thirty. We have half-an-hour to get downstairs and take the Metro to-"

"We can't take the Metro, remember? I think Russell might be waiting for us in the lobby."

Vasquez sighed. "Fuck."

After getting dressed and almost literally dragging Hudson out of bed, we ran to the elevators and punched the button for the lobby. It was strangely quiet, but I knew it couldn't be that long before the hotel was a little more active. At least we didn't have to worry about people joining us in the elevator.

I was right about Russell being in the lobby; we saw him sitting on a couch near the doors. As soon as I saw him, he beckoned us over, and stood up. "Everything you'll need is in the back of my vehicle," he said. "I'm dropping you off behind the office building. Vasquez, you're gonna stay with me and keep in contact with Drake and Hudson."

We were led to a dark-gray van. The backseats had been removed and replaced with computer monitors, and there were weapon cases on the floor. "There're pulse rifles in there," Russell said. "Hopefully, that's all you'll need in terms of arms."

As we rode downtown, Hudson and I were adjusting the rifles and loading them with ammunition. Don't get me wrong, I wished I had my smartgun, but it probably wasn't practical in this situation. "So it's just get in, destroy the jammer, and get out?" I asked.

"That's the simplest way to put it, Drake," Russell replied. "We don't know how many androids Jenzi has or how well-guarded the jammer is. All we can do now is hope for the best and prepare for the worst."

* * *

 _Question: How well does the silver flower serve as a metaphor for Drake's fears and discomforts?_

 _Author's Note: I pretty much burned myself out writing the last two pages of the chapter. I'm physically and mentally fine, but I need to keep telling myself to stop writing when I'm not motivated. Unfortunately, I wasn't all that motivated today, but I knew I needed to publish this chapter today. This morning, I told myself to get it done before noon, and I failed. I kept getting distracted and I wasn't sure how to smoothly transition from the crew in the mall to getting ready to storm Jenzi's hideout. I'm hoping this comes out somewhat decent. If not, I'll go in and edit._


	14. Chapter 14

I found myself counting heartbeats as I entered the office building. The overall city ambience was the only sound, and believe me when I say anything is better than dead silence. Dead silence can be a nightmare.

The office building had been evacuated the night before, which meant the only movement we should be registering is that of ourselves, Jenzi, and his androids. Going right back into Marine mode was slightly difficult, if you want me to be honest with you. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've done anything like this?

Almost a month. And it wouldn't be that way if I didn't stupidly run into a lab full of silver flowers.

Speaking of the little devils, Hudson and I were thankfully equipped with gas masks, just in case Jenzi had any (living or dead) on hand. Part of me doesn't think that wearing a gas mask will prevent me from sinking into panic if I see one, not to mention I hated the amplified sound of me breathing.

I gestured for Hudson to get behind me as we came to a corner somewhere on the fourth floor. If there was going to be any shooting, I refused to let him get hurt before me. Seeing everything was clear, I started moving forward. The hallway perpendicular to us was lined with windows that offered a stunning panoramic view of D.C. The deep red and pink of the sunrise was making a number of thoughts prod at my brain, one of them being, " _You want to have views like this when you move on and get your own place with Vasquez._ "

Damn right, I do.

An open door led us to a large room full of cubicles. Through my earpiece, I heard Vasquez say, "You two still have four floors to go until you reach the jammer."

"Can't we use an elevator?" Hudson asked.

"The elevators are down. Besides, you could use the stairs after having two pizza slices last night."

"Good one, sweetheart," I said.

"That's really not funny, man," Hudson muttered. Suddenly, he grabbed my shoulder and pulled me into a cubicle.

"What the hell are you-"

" _Shh!_ Don't move, and don't speak, man!" he hissed.

I heard someone walking into the room, and a beam of light was waving slightly. We crouched under the desk, and watched an android walk by without glancing in. The android stopped near the door we came in, and said into a radio, "The tracker stated there was movement on this floor. I'm not seeing anything. Shall I activate the heartbeat sweeper?"

A voice over the radio replied, "Affirmative."

"What should we do, Drake?" Hudson whispered.

"Get off this fucking floor." I peered out of the cubicle, seeing the android still standing by the doorway. "Come on, quickly!" I shoved Hudson out, yanking on him as we jogged toward a second door. It was really tempting to just shoot the android, but I knew that was probably going to reveal us to the whole building.

"There're the stairs, man," Hudson said as we rounded another corner. "Aw, shit!"

We saw another android's boots appear in the stairwell, and began frantically searching for a place to hide. Hudson dove into a small closet, while I spotted an open window. It seemed crazy, but what choice did I have?

Thank God I didn't have a smartgun. I could easily put the pulse rifle over my shoulder with its strap, and crawl out the window onto the ledge. Putting myself in the space between two windows, I realized I was literally an inch away from potentially falling to my death, and that was something I didn't want. I took a deep breath, feeling in control of my thoughts for once. That didn't mean I wasn't thinking about some of the horrible things that've happened over the last several days; I was thinking about them in the past tense.

The feeling of being in control felt like a godsend, a complete miracle. I felt like I was at peace. It was probably a result of forcing myself to go back into a military mindset, but it was putting my brain back on a rigid path.

At the same time, I knew it wasn't possible, or healthy, to be in this mindset all the time. This was the mindset that had me suppress the emotions that could get me killed, and if they stayed suppressed for too long, they could send me into a tailspin of depression and violent outbursts. I speak from experience.

I'm not entirely sure how long I was out on the ledge. Eventually, one of the windows opened, and Hudson said, "Drake! Come on, it's clear."

We headed upstairs as quietly as possible. Another issue we had with the gas masks was that they were partially restricting our peripheral vision, and we were trying to rely on our hearing to make sure nothing was sneaking up on us. At least Hudson's hearing was better than mine.

When we finally found the jammer, I could see why the people in the office building didn't notice it was there until they were alerted by the USCM. It was in a maintenance closet full of old equipment the janitors don't use anymore. Behind dusty vacuums and buckets that were starting to grow mold was a machine the size of a school desk, sporting an antenna.

"Judging by the looks of this thing, I bet you can use it to hijack any tool you want in the hospital across the street," Hudson said.

"What should we do? Toss it out the window?" I asked.

"No. You stand by the door, and I'll see what I can do." Hudson set his pulse rifle on the floor as he knelt by the jammer, then took his backpack from his shoulders. He pulled out a small toolbox, and set to work removing some of the side panels of the jammer. "Piece of cake, man, piece of cake," he said. "We'll be outta here in-hello, what's this?" He picked up a pair of wire cutters. "There! No more power. No more cooling system. And . . . no more connection to the outside world."

"That's it? Just cut a few wires and we're golden?"

"Sure looks like it, man. Although, if they have a backup-" Hudson cut off the antenna, "now it won't work."

"Something's telling me this shouldn't have been easy."

"What? You wanted it to be hard?"

"No-"

"Then quit your bitching and let's get the fuck outta here."

I stuck my head out of the doorway, and saw yet another android approaching. "We can't. There's someone coming."

"Get in here and close the door, man!"

I guess closing the door was a big mistake, because the damn thing couldn't close quietly. Just as Hudson and I were hiding behind the dusty vacuums, the door opened, and the android was looking around the room with a flashlight and heartbeat sensor.

"I think the jammer may've been compromised, sir," the android said. "These intruders are in this room . . . hiding somewhere." He looked at the machine. "Yes, the jammer has indeed been damaged. A side panel is off, and several wires have been cut, along with the antenna."

I heard Jenzi's voice through the radio. "When you find the intruders, shoot them, and shoot to kill."

"Yes, sir."

Abruptly standing, Hudson fired several rounds into the android's head. White fluid exploded from it, splattering all over the grimy walls of the room. The android shook violently as it collapsed, more fluid pooling beneath it. Hudson grabbed my arm. "Let's get outta here, man!"

Stealth was out of the question now. Every android in the building was now a hostile, and we had to shoot them before they shot us. Leaving mangled bodies and trails of white liquid in our wakes, we ran down to the lobby. Five or six androids had barricaded themselves behind the front desk, and pointing handguns at us. Shoving Hudson behind a large plant, I began spraying bullets into the desk each time an android poked his head over to shoot at us. I knew I hit something each time I heard a wet pop, but the sound I didn't want to hear was a click.

Hudson pushed me behind the plant so I could reload, and I got a good look at why he's one of the best riflemen we have. At least every other shot he fired was followed by the sound of an android's head exploding, and the pool of white fluid on the floor got bigger by the second. "All this milk and no fucking corn flakes to have with it," Hudson said. He cursed under his breath when a door burst open with three more androids behind it. "Drake, you reloaded yet?!"

Staying in a crouched position, I looked around the plant, aiming the rifle at one of the androids before filling his body with fresh bullets. It was at that moment that I had a bit of a brainfart, and nearly forgot that androids can be shot up and still function; if you want it disabled, you blow its head off.

For the moment, it appeared that Jenzi was going to throw every android he had our way until we were overwhelmed or we destroyed them all, but around ten minutes into the fray, the androids stopped. They all lowered their weapons, and stared at us, expecting us to do the same. I looked at Hudson, who simply took his finger off the trigger.

Jenzi pushed past some of the androids in order to see exactly who these intruders were. He threw his own pulse rifle over his shoulder before glaring at us. "Drake," he said. "I should've known you were going to do whatever you could to protect Hicks."

"This is about more than just Hicks," I replied. "What kind of sick bastard tries to encourage a man to kill himself?"

"What kind of sick bastard keeps living a completely empty life, being dictated by his pathetic emotions all the time? You, that's who!"

"Don't give me this garbage again. Besides, me and Hudson were having fun mowing your minions down. Your jammer is down, and your plan to kill Hicks failed. Why don't you just come with us peacefully, and keep yourself from getting the death penalty?"

"Why're you so keen on protecting Hicks, anyway?"

"Well, for one thing, it's got nothing to do with sucking his dick, like you said it was when we met yesterday. I've been angry with Hicks before, don't get me wrong. I've been bottling up emotions for a long time, and there are times where I don't know how to feel. It's a go-to response for me to just push people away and let my problems fester until they explode. Hicks took notice of the fact that I'm not very sociable, I'm moody and irritable, and that I simply look depressed. I pushed him away the first time he tried to reach out to me, and I accused his intentions of being false. I didn't think he wanted to care about me as an individual, simply because he didn't take the time to get to know me when we first met. It's been a few years since I was attached to that unit, and we still don't fully know each other. I assumed that he was just saying something because my behavior was effecting the entire unit, and I was tired of being seen as a puzzle piece rather than a person. It took some time before I realized that I was wrong, and it was just me beating myself up. I _needed_ someone who'd just listen. Hicks was offering that, and I wasn't taking it."

"What made you see that? Magic?"

"No. Just digging around my own head." I tilted my head a little, looking Jenzi in the eye. "Does that sound too silly to you?"

Jenzi didn't react right away. He folded his arms over his chest, and looked at the floor. Eventually, he regained eye contact with me, and shook his head slightly. "No. At this point, though . . . it's impossible for me to do so. You just got lucky."

"Maybe. It's not too late for you to change. You're young; maybe the USCM will have a little mercy on you, and you'll only get twenty years in prison. That still gives you a lot of time to change and renew yourself. Give Hicks another chance. Do you have any idea what he's going through right now?"

"Is he suffering?"

"Yeah." I felt like that was a dumb question.

A devilish smile crossed Jenzi's face. "If I can't kill him, then I've at least achieved something. Not to mention-" Jenzi reached into his vest, pulling out the stasis tube containing a silver flower, "this can be permanently damaging to one's mind, as I've seen with you, Drake."

The metallic petals glinted in the early-morning sunlight spilling through the windows. I've never seen the flower in light before, only darkness. But, that didn't stop the onslaught of horrible memories from crashing down on me. Again, I heard shattering glass, choking, panicking, raspy breathing. I wanted to scream and cry at the same time, but I felt locked down as I thought of myself holding my chest and struggling to breathe, like in all my nightmares. Somehow, I was still aware of Hudson crouching next to me, and my thoughts began turning to the day I dragged him out of that abandoned building. Involuntarily, I dropped my rifle, and pulled Hudson into a tight hug. I know we were both wearing gas masks, but I was still moaning, "Not again . . . not again," and sobbing while holding Hudson.

Jenzi continued to smile. "It's insanely easy to reduce you to a blubbering mess, it's amazing you're still a Marine."

Hudson glared at him. "Drake is one of the best Marines I know, man."

"In what universe?"

"This one. He's a human being, that's why. He knows his strong points and weak points. Being traumatized hasn't stopped him from saving me and Hicks from that flower. He's gone through hell and back, and he doesn't want anyone else to do the same. If he was a crappy Marine, he woulda turned tail at the sight of that thing, but he's mustered some pretty incredible courage in the face of absolute shit. He's got his bad points, that's for sure, but I think he's a good guy overall. Hell, when we become civilians one day, I wouldn't mind going out and having a beer with him."

"You're just babying him."

"Why don't you go piss on a sock and put it in your mouth? Take your damn daisy and leave Drake the fuck alone."

Jenzi stepped closer with the flower. "Take off your mask, Drake. I want to see you act brave." Right above him, a ceiling panel was smashed in two, and a large white shape plunged down on top of Jenzi. He screamed in terror when he saw the shape was a snarling, masked Annexer, wearing a necklace of bones. The stasis tube dropped on the floor, and rolled over to me and Hudson.

I gripped Hudson tighter, prompting him to say, "It's OK, man, it didn't break. Even if it did, we're protected. It's OK."

Jenzi was likely about to tell his androids to shoot Ursa Major, but the Polar Annexer pinned Jenzi's head down by wrapping his paw around the rogue Marine's neck. A split-second later, Ursa Major swiped his claws across Jenzi's chest. Blood sprayed on the floor and the Annexer's white uniform, and Jenzi was howling in pain.

I guess Ursa Major somehow knew that the USCM wanted Jenzi alive, so he didn't do any further damage. With Jenzi incapacitated, Ursa Major stepped off him, and approached me and Hudson. He glanced at the stasis tube, but didn't touch it.

"I think he's trying to tell you something, man," Hudson said. "You can get Jenzi and bring him out to Russell."

"You do it," I replied. "I can't . . . I can't . . . g-go near . . ."

"Yes, you can. It's in a tube, and you're wearing a mask. It's OK, man. If anything happens, I'm right here."

Ursa Major nodded.

Hudson helped me stand, and I found myself shivering uncontrollably. When I looked at the flower, I was enveloped in the memories once more, and grabbed Hudson. "I can't do it. Let me go!"

"Stop looking at it, man." Hudson kept pushing me towards Jenzi, and made me face forward. "Don't look at it."

I suddenly felt like a band was strapped around my lungs and slowly crushing them. I was dizzy and certain I was going to collapse.

"Almost there, man, it's OK. Couple more steps."

I managed to step past the flower despite an overwhelming desire to hunch in on myself and scream. The flower was behind me, and I was standing in front of Jenzi. I was still shuddering, but I felt more in control of my actions, so I bent down and lifted up Jenzi. "Give me the cuffs," I said.

Hudson pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his backpack, and snapped them on Jenzi's wrists. "You did good, man," he said to me.

I took a breath, not feeling the tightness around my chest. Ursa Major was looking at me, and the short flick of his tail told me that he was impressed with what I had done. Of course, others are going to say that me facing my fear and not running away is a big accomplishment, but I don't feel that; I just walked by a silver flower in a stasis tube. How is that impressive?

As we brought Jenzi outside to Russell's vehicle, I decided I would tell this story to everyone I knew individually, just to hear their reasons for why it should be considered impressive for me.

* * *

 _Question: Out of each person who has accompanied Drake, who do you think will provide the best reasoning for why this should be considered an accomplishment? Hudson, Hicks, or Vasquez?_

 _Author's Note: I'm impressed I was able to keep this plot point going for more than eight pages. I'm actually happy with how this turned out, not to mention we got see some action with the pulse rifle (sorry, Drake, you'll get your smartgun back, I promise).  
_

 _Should I start doing shorter stories alongside the main series? Maybe based on prompts, or a really short fluffy piece following Drake and Vasquez (date-night fails, perhaps)? I feel like stuff like that would clear the mental sewage from my brain and help the main series flow better, but I don't want to do it if no one's going to read it._


	15. Chapter 15

More USCM vehicles had showed up when Hudson and I were leading a handcuffed Jenzi outside. After two MPs took away Jenzi, Vasquez hopped out of Russell's van, and jogged over to hug me. "I saw what happened on the camera feed," she said. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine," I replied, hugging her tightly. "I'm alright."

To make things look less suspicious, Vasquez gave Hudson a hug as well. "How about you, dumbass? Are you OK?"

"I had a blast in there," Hudson laughed. "Felt good to hold a weapon again, man."

Stepping out of the van, General Russell approached the three of us, and shook our hands. "I'm glad to say this was a success. You're damn good Marines, all of you." He looked at me. "Son, what you did in there solidifies everything I said about you when I gave you that medal. I hope you start looking at it in a different light."

I gulped. "I don't know, sir. I just . . . I'm . . . I'm embarrassed about . . . how I acted. If I was actually brave, I-"

"You faced your biggest fear head-on. You're not a robot, son, you're a man. I wouldn't expect you to just stand up and walk by that stasis tube like it was nothing."

"If that's . . . how you feel, sir, then . . . OK." I wish I had more to say, but I figured it was best that I keep some of it to myself. As I started to walk away, I heard Russell talking with Hudson about how he deserves recognition for helping me.

The world continued to work around me. Once again, I felt physically and mentally drained, and it was only seven in the morning. After returning the pulse rifle and gas mask, I decided I needed to be honest with Russell about how I was feeling at the moment, and asked if I could leave the scene. Luckily, he let me go.

I needed to be alone. That's all. Hopefully, I could be alone for the rest of the day. I don't know what that meant, but it was what I wanted.

As I walked down the street, away from the office building, I felt like a pipe burst in my head, and my thoughts were running all over the place uncontrollably. Although some things weren't clear, I knew Jenzi was right when he said I had been reduced to a sobbing mess when he took out the flower. Anyone who witnessed it would see it as the most embarrassing thing a grown man could do. I don't even think that's what happens when someone suffering with PTSD does if they come across something that reminds them of their traumatic event. Shutting down is one thing. Showing the world you're scared is another. What I did was nothing short of fucking shameful.

And yet, I didn't feel like hurling myself over a cliff. I guess I sorta felt like my reaction to the flower wasn't something I was really in control of. Maybe it's something I'll need therapy for. I definitely don't want to "love" the flower or be completely comfortable around it; I just don't want to be smacked with flashbacks every time I see it.

Maybe I'm asking for too much again.

Of course, another reason I felt drained was probably because I didn't have anything for breakfast, and I don't want to continue this bad habit of skipping meals. I know I'm going to feel like crap later. That didn't stop me from being really slow and making generally poor choices. I sat by myself in a café with a very large and very sticky cinnamon bun and a cup of coffee I loaded with flavored creamer. Instead of eating, I stared at my food and wondered if I was going to throw away ten dollars today. I really didn't want to, but my appetite just wasn't there.

Someone knocked on the window, and I turned to see Vasquez and Hudson waving to me before coming inside the café. "Russell told us you left," Vasquez said, sitting next to me. "Is everything OK?"

I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I'm embarrassed about what happened in the building, and I just feel . . . very drained. Simply by being terrified of a stupid flower, and acting like Hudson was a lifeline of some sorts."

"Don't let this get you down, man." Hudson reached across the table to pat my shoulder. "It's not your fault."

"At least you're eating breakfast for once," Vasquez added.

"No, I'm not. I . . . lost my appetite." I pushed my plate away.

"Can I have it?" Hudson asked.

"Absolutely not. Drake needs to eat," Vasquez snapped.

I pushed the plate closer to Hudson. "Nope. Have it. I don't care." I then looked at Vasquez. "I love you, and I love that you care about me, but I don't want anyone arguing with me today. Can you do that for me?"

"Not when you're trying to put your own health on the line! You realize Apone would yell at you if he were here."

"Well, Apone's not here. We're all privates, so nobody's above each other."

Vasquez took a breath while glaring at me. "I am not putting up with this when we get out and we're on our own. I really don't want to wake up every Goddamn morning and deal with your depression. I don't think you understand how much this rubs off on others. Do you even realize how sad it makes _me_ when you're sad? How about the fact that I'm worried about you all the time because of this? How about the fact that every time we interact, you're fucking sad? Even when we have sex, I sense that you're sad. Your mind isn't on me or our relationship; it's always about your problems, and you have no concept of how this is taking a toll on the people around you."

"I think you're blowing this out of proportion," I replied. "I'm not sad all the time. I'm not sad every time we interact. I'm not sad when we have sex."

"How can you be sad when having sex?" Hudson mumbled with his mouth full. "Wouldn't that kill your drive?"

"Stay out of this!" Vasquez and I yelled at the same time.

"Honest question, man-"

"Yeah, well, no one cares!" I shouted before turning back to Vasquez. "When we're out of the Marines and on our own, we don't have to worry about this anymore. You don't have to worry about me being sad all the time."

"I'm worried now! I don't want to wait until we're out for you to be happy. Every single time you go to me, it's always 'oh, woe is Drake,' and I'm sick of it."

"Oh, so every time I want to go see you, I have to shove all my fucking problems down my throat and act like everything is OK? Do you have any idea how painful it is to fake happiness?"

"Your problems shouldn't be the forefront of every conversation!"

"If you're so worried about that, why don't you actually help me try to solve them?"

"Because you seem to think your problems are more important then mine!"

"That's not true. That's not true at all. I put my problems aside when you felt useless after hurting your shoulder."

"No. You fussed over me. You damn near panicked because I was having a minor pain when we first got here."

Hudson snapped. "Jesus Christ, you guys are both whining! Just stop and listen to yourselves for a minute, man! You're both being selfish here, but . . . Vasquez, you brought up a good point, and Drake needs to listen. Drake, if you want people to listen to you, you need to listen to them and understand their problems as well. What's so fucking hard about that? If you two love each other, surely you know what makes the other tick or what makes 'em happy or sad or angry, right?"

Vasquez folded her arms over her chest. "What's your point, Hudson?"

"My point is that you two need to shut the fuck up before you say things that you both regret. I mean, you're already overreacting and making assumptions and just . . . being shitty to each other. Neither of you are more important than the other. You're both keeping things bottled up that you shouldn't, and you need to talk to each other. Why is that so hard to do, man?"

I know in many of my previous entries, I've stated how I wasn't all that sure telling Hudson about our relationship was a good idea. As of now, I take that all back. He could have easily said nothing for the sake of spreading drama around base, but he seemed visibly uncomfortable with the fact that Vasquez and I were fighting. He's only really known about this for two days, and he already cares about the relative health of our relationship.

"You're just telling us stuff we already know," Vasquez replied.

"It's not like he's wrong, sweetheart," I said.

"Well, I'd rather talk to you in private, OK?"

"Deal." Instead of shaking her hand, I gave Vasquez a kiss on her cheek.

"Really? We fight, and the first thing you wanna do is-"

"It's called 'kissing and making up,' baby."

* * *

I still didn't have much of an appetite, but I got something small in order to keep Vasquez from flipping out on me again. Honestly, I have had this feeling for awhile that my issues are a massive turnoff when it comes to interacting with people, and I know that when you're negative all the time, it drags people down, especially people you're close to. What I don't think anyone realizes is that I'm not negative just because I want to be. I simply don't feel like I have the room in my heart right now to be some kind of ray of fucking positive energy. I've been forced to be positive before, and all it does is make me feel worse. It's like pressing down on a metal spring; when you let go, it's going to come back up and hit you in the face. At times, it's felt like people tell me to be positive because they think being happy will make all my problems will go away. Spending time with people who care will make all my problems go away. Doing "happy things" will make all my problems go away.

Well, at least that's how it was when I was in high school. Before getting arrested, my biggest struggle was simply getting shit done. You know how I averaged a "B" on my equivalency test? That wouldn't have happened years ago. At best, my grade would've been close to a "C." Most of the time, it was lower. There were a few times where I showed some degree of intelligence and wowed my teachers, but I think most people can agree that every set of teachers you get for a year are a real mixed bag; you've got the really good ones, the OK ones, and the ones you loathe. However, all of mine said the same thing to me: "Push harder." So I did. I knew pushing harder meant putting more effort into my work, but if I wanted to put more effort into my work, it took longer, and you know how deadlines in school are honestly more ridiculous than deadlines in real life. I had more time to use a bathroom in boot camp than I did to complete a research paper for English class. However, if you proved that you were really careful and well-behaved and got good grades on just about everything, the teacher might give you an extension. Remember, I was mediocre. I didn't get that because it was perceived that I just didn't care, and that it would be my own dumb luck that I could get a good grade on anything.

I just realized I went off on a horrible tangent there, and lost my point within that abomination of self-pity. Oh, yeah, I was writing about how bitching about how someone else's negativity can drag others down can be destructive to both parties involved. Number one, it doesn't help me. I've been burying my problems for years, and it hasn't made them go away. Number two, why don't you try and help me instead of being intimidated by the magnitude of my depression or PTSD or regrets or mistakes or fears or whatever the hell I'm dealing with?

But, I can't ignore the fact that Vasquez and I are in a romantic relationship, and the rules are different. When you enter a relationship, things change in terms of how you talk to each other. It's a necessity to open up about your personal life, because you're allowing another person into your personal life. I'm not talking about your hobbies and interests and social life and whatnot; I'm talking about your past, your goals in life, and your horrible pains. Considering Vasquez and I were both in prison, there were a whole lot of pleasantries we had to skip. We didn't connect immediately, but over time (a few months, actually), we developed feelings for each other. That was hard, because we had both spent a lot of time suppressing our emotions in order to survive and simply be left alone. Our method of meeting and our eventual falling in love doesn't mean our relationship is destined to fail because we didn't follow a specific formula. The things that would kill a relationship between two people who met normally would kill ours as well, in this case, poor communication.

I don't deny that Vasquez's transition from scared-shitless prisoner to Marine has been an emotional roller coaster for her. Her problem is that she is _way less open_ than I am. It's a habit she's had since before she did what she did to go to prison. I've mentioned before that I feel like I can help her. Now, I don't know if I can. We're both broken people, but we love each other despite our faults. We want to have a future together, and that means we need to get a grip on ourselves if we want that. Hell, if we have a kid, it would be extremely unfair for that kid to be dealing with two emotionally unstable parents.

We've both been selfish. That's my point.

I'm starting to think this kind of rambling is why I didn't do so well on any of my papers. My sophomore English teacher thought I had a pretty good grasp on language, though, and thought I'd make a good "motivational speaker" if I could tone down my swearing habit. I'm a Marine, now, so that's not possible.

* * *

I stopped writing for the day mainly because I was losing my grip on my thoughts again. I thought about crossing out all the stuff about relationships and school, but I don't want to waste the ink, and I think I made some good points with myself that I should look back on once in awhile. But, also to remind myself that my rambling is a bad habit.

Anyway, I decided to ask Delhoun for money because I wanted to take Vasquez out to dinner so we could talk. He wasn't in his hotel room, so I had to get on the Metro and head down to the hospital. Something was nagging at me a little, and I went to see Hicks before seeing Delhoun. To make a long story short, I told Hicks about the raid on the office building across the street. He listened while enjoying this pretty big turkey sandwich that I assumed was the first piece of real food he's had in more than four days. Yeah, he's a Marine and all, but we still have fucking table manners, and Hicks is generally polite at the dinner table. Today, he was scarfing that sandwich down like Hudson on ice cream day.

I told Hicks everything, but I included the most details when it came to Jenzi taunting me with the silver flower, and I put emphasis on the fact that cowering and holding Hudson felt downright embarrassing in hindsight. Despite that, Hicks held up his hand and shook his head. He waited until he swallowed a large bite of his sandwich before speaking. "OK, OK, stop right there, Drake. I know this probably doesn't sound helpful, but _don't_ feel embarrassed about that. You're beating on yourself again."

"Honestly, though, there had to have been a better way I could've-"

"You were barely thinking. There is nothing else you could've done. Accept it."

"How?"

"Say it. Tell yourself that there was nothing else you could've done. You were scared, and your instincts took control."

"OK."

"No, I want you to actually say what I just said."

"Why?"

"Drake-"

"Alright, alright." I sighed. "There was nothing else I could've done. I was scared, and my instincts took control."

"Good. Do that every time you start putting yourself down."

I felt like part of my heart had turned to lead, and was beginning to make my chest feel heavy with disappointment. "Anything else?"

"No. First step is getting you to break this bad habit of beating yourself up. That seems to be the common denominator whenever you come in here."

He had a point, but I also wanted to talk more, and it felt like I was being pushed back until it was believable that I could stop putting myself down. Not wanting to start another fight, I left the room, heading across the hall to the lab.

Delhoun was alone; Hornby was still in the building, but he was getting some other ingredients for Hicks's pill, which is supposedly nearly complete. The lab was quiet, and Delhoun was focused on some science-y jargon on his laptop. "Hello, Drake," he said, without looking up. "I got the report from General Russell about your-"

"I don't want to talk about that," I replied. "I need something from you."

"What now?"

"A little bit of money. Vasquez and I had a fight this morning, and I'd like to take her out to dinner and just talk about what's bothering her."

Delhoun took a breath while thinking. "Fine." He reached into his coat pocket and removed his wallet. "Just organized this thing," he muttered. "Here. A hundred dollars in twenties. Give me any change."

"Thanks." I noticed Ursa Major perched on a large machine near one end of the room, and a dumb question came to mind. "Was he let out earlier today?"

"He let himself out," Delhoun replied. "Polar Annexers are smart like that."

"Why, though? Why the hell would he escape in order to help us?"

"Well, it's no secret that you were out on a window ledge. He probably interpreted that as you in danger, and hurried on across the street. Plus . . ." Delhoun glanced at me, "I think he wanted to see you in action."

"That doesn't make a lot of sense to me."

"Remember what I told you about how Polar Annexers are incredibly respectful and determined animals? They look for that in any human companion they come across. Clearly, Ursa Major saw something in you, and wants to see if it's true, or a mere illusion. Very rarely are they wrong."

I was about to say that there couldn't be anything good Ursa Major saw in me, but I remembered what Hicks said about not putting myself down. Sighing, I walked over to where Ursa Major was sitting. He tilted his head slowly, then lowered it to get a better look at me. I could tell he was silently judging me, and I half-expected absolutely nothing to happen.

Thinking this was pointless, I was about to turn and walk away. Ursa Major then put a paw on my head, gesturing for me to stay. "I have to go," I said. "What're you-"

He took off the band with the hare bones dangling from it, and carefully placed it around my neck. I was honestly a little stunned, considering what Delhoun told me about how Polar Annexers will give stuff like this to humans they see as worthy, and I just didn't see myself as worthy of something that's meant for someone who actually perseveres and doesn't give up. I wanted to give up.

Is the fact that I didn't give up a factor in this? I swallowed past a lump in my throat while looking at the bones, and then glanced back up at Ursa Major. "I feel like 'thanks' would seem a bit underwhelming in this situation. I . . . honestly, I don't know what to say."

All I got in return was a simple nod. I guess that meant I should just accept what I got. After all, it meant something.

* * *

 _Question: Which "version" of Drake is more likeable? How he is in the movie, or how he in this series?_

 _Author's Note: When it comes to writing first-person, it's important that you establish the voice of the character. I know the "journal style" isn't all that popular because it feels "too personal" or messy or incomprehensible. Some people can pull it off well. I can imagine it's incredibly difficult when it comes to writing a canon character, but it's a little easier when that character is a blank slate to work with. Basically, don't be afraid to try the "journal style" if you're writing first-person._

 _Hudson in first-person would be fun to read, but I feel like he's better suited for third-person._


	16. Chapter 16

The good news was that the three of us had a full day to ourselves tomorrow, while Hornby applied the finishing touches to Hicks's pill. Delhoun didn't go into too much detail as to what the pill was going to do, other than it was going to work similarly to Hudson's. The main difference was that the hormone in it was coming from Ursa Major, simply because Polar Annexer hormones produce a less severe reaction than that from a standard Annexer. That doesn't mean it'll do nothing. It basically means that Hicks might just give us all dirty looks and snap at us for no reason. Definitely leagues better than what Hudson did.

By the time I left the hospital, I figured it was a good time to go back to the hotel, get freshened up, and take Vasquez somewhere. After arriving at the hotel, I first checked to see if Hudson was still there, hoping to wish him luck on his meetup with Miranda.

Sure enough, Hudson was in the bathroom, taking a last-minute piss before leaving. I debated with myself whether or not I should tell him that Miranda is nervous about screwing this up. After all, I think he should learn this on his own, but I also think it'd be easier on Miranda if Hudson was aware and made an effort to make her feel comfortable. Sighing, I knocked on the bathroom door, saying, "Hudson, do you have minute?"

"Yeah, man. Make it quick," Hudson replied before flushing the toilet.

"Well . . . um . . . last night, Miranda told me that she's nervous about messing up this little date you're going on. I . . . just thought I'd let you know."

Opening the door, Hudson was still making sure his pants were up and his fly was closed. He glanced at me, and was clearly unsure of what to say. "I did . . . kinda figure she was nervous 'bout something. I thought it was just from me doing the trick with the pen."

"No, she's nervous about the date. She has a bit of a bad history with dating."

"Oh. Wait . . . wait . . . so . . . she's looking for a serious relationship?"

I nodded.

Hudson blushed a little, and looked torn between smiling and frowning. "Gee, man, I dunno . . . I dunno if I can handle a long-distance relationship. Hell, we gotta go back to Australia in a few days. Poor gal." He folded his arms over his chest, and looked down at the floor. "I mean, I kinda thought it was just gonna be hanging out, but . . . you're serious she's trying to go for a relationship?"

"Yep."

The blushing deepened. "She likes me?"

"Yes, Hudson, she likes you." I clapped his shoulder. "Go out there and score."

"I'll give it a shot, man." Hudson picked up his cap. "Look, I don't wanna sound dumb, but . . . d'you have any advice?"

I shrugged. "Be nice to her. Be interested in her life and what she does. Simple stuff like that."

"OK." Hudson threw on his jacket, not bothering to zipper it. "I'll see you later tonight, Drake."

"Whatever. Go enjoy yourself, and don't fuck it up." I waited for him to leave before grabbing my own jacket and heading next door. Knocking, I said, "I got the money, Vasquez, you ready?"

"Yeah, hang on!" A minute later, Vasquez opened the door. "What the hell took you so long?"

"Talked to Hicks, talked to Delhoun." I unzipped my jacket to show her the bones. "Got this from an Annexer."

"Why? Are these . . . chicken bones?"

"Hare bones. Apparently, I'm special. Some symbol about determination and all that fun shit."

"You know, as macabre as this may be, I think they suit you. It almost says, 'Don't fuck with me.'"

I grinned. "Only one person's allowed to fuck with me." I kissed Vasquez's forehead. "And that person's you."

"Not that definition of 'fuck,' you moron."

* * *

We decided to leave the mall and venture out into the streets of Crystal City. I'll admit, if you can think of something, Washington has it; there were a lot of obscure little places lining every single block. It was kind of intimidating to Vasquez, but, you know, she didn't make that obvious. Whatever I picked, she'd go with it.

I really wasn't feeling all that picky, so I picked a burger/brewery joint three blocks away from the Marriott. As soon as we sat down, I said, "First off . . . I'm sorry about what happened this morning. I really should be listening to you more, and I'm not."

"Apology accepted, Drake. I'm sorry for not listening as well," Vasquez replied.

"And your apology is accepted. What should we do from here?"

"How about this: I tell you something that's bothering me, and then you tell me something that's bothering you. We go back and forth, and don't offer anything else until we've exhausted our problems. Or cry. No interrupting."

I nodded. "OK, I like the sound of that. You go first."

Vasquez took a breath, and glanced around like she was afraid someone was listening. "Even though I helped you guys on the mission this morning, I still feel useless because of my arm."

"I'm trying to not beat myself up so often."

"I've had more nightmares about going back to prison than I do about what I did to go to prison."

"I have a lot of nightmares where I can't breathe."

"When you were on the hospital station, I was incredibly lonely and even thought about telling Hudson about our relationship. I couldn't bring myself to do so, and ended up feeling like I would cry every time I looked at him."

"I still feel like I need to say 'sorry' to Hicks for how I treated him when he was trying to help me a few weeks ago, even though I apologized yesterday and he accepted it."

"There are times where I wish I could look prettier."

"Sometimes, I don't like it when Hudson tries to defend me."

"I wish we could have more conversations about our future instead of our mental health."

"I'm afraid of seeing a psychiatrist because if I get diagnosed with something, I could get kicked out of the Marines."

"While you were here in D.C. last time, I had bottled up so much frustration over you that when Dietrich said something insulting about you, I wanted to punch her."

"Even though I know I'm just friends with Miranda, I still feel like she has romantic feelings for me."

"I hate being told to be more expressive by people I don't know."

"I can't seem to put the past behind me. Every mistake likes to come back and haunt me at the worst possible time."

"Same."

I figured we had said all that needed to be said. In my head, I was keeping tracking of everything Vasquez said, and trying to come up with solutions. We were both trying to put the past behind us, and failing to do so. "I think we should take this all one step at a time," I said. "We've got a long road ahead of us. Maybe we'll be able to solve some things while we're still in the Marines, and maybe some things will have to be dealt with when we get out. The important thing is that we know we both have issues, and we should . . . we should be there for each other." I paused, thinking for a minute. "That didn't sound cheesy, did it?"

"There's no other way to put it. You're right. I think we were both a little intimidated by everything we're facing right now. I shouldn't have assumed that you try to put your issues at the forefront of every conversation. If anything . . . I should assume that . . ." Vasquez's voice cracked a little, "it's a cry for help."

"Hey, don't feel bad about it. I've known you longer than anyone else in the squad. I should know when you need help."

"That's the problem, though. I trust you, I love you, I should be able to at least be more expressive around you."

"Just because I'm your boyfriend doesn't mean that being more expressive will come easy to you. Maybe it will over time, but suppressing your emotions is something you got used to doing. It's not going to disappear every single time we're alone together. But, I have noticed that you've improved since we first started dating. The fact that you're able to sit and have this kind of conversation with me shows that. A few years ago, you wouldn't have been able to do this. You would've been scared and you would've been bottling stuff up and you wouldn't be able to express yourself properly."

"I just thought . . . I would've been a lot better by now."

"Trust me, I feel the same about when it comes to the shit I'm going through. It'll take awhile, but I think we'll start to feel better if we keep talking about this and actively find help. Hell, at least you're not traumatized like me."

"Yeah, that's definitely a plus. I know you've said you're in the dark about having post-traumatic stress, and you're afraid of finding help because you don't want to get tossed out. There's got to be some way to put your mind at ease."

"I'm willing to stay in the dark until I'm properly discharged."

"What if it gets worse?"

"What if I don't have it at all?"

"Drake, you've had _panic attacks_ when you're faced with the silver flower. You keep having nightmares about not being able to breathe, and just thinking about those nightmares makes you panic. I'm not a doctor, but none of that sounds right."

"Well, I don't want to tell anyone other than you and Hudson. I don't want to leave. I know I have a diploma now, and I can get a job, but that wasn't the only thing I was worried about. The other thing was you. Me getting kicked out means you're not coming. I can't imagine what that'll do to you, and I don't want to find out."

"What about your plan to move to D.C. and wait?"

"That's still in play. It's the waiting I don't think either of us want to deal with. Getting kicked out early means waiting longer. I know you feel like you have a purpose in the Marines, and I don't want you to feel obliged to sign your discharge papers just because I had to go. Besides, you don't even have your own diploma-"

"Actually, I do." Vasquez drew in a breath. "I sent in a request to take the GED shortly after we went to boot camp. I didn't hear back until we were shipped to this unit. I took the test, mailed it back, and . . . passed with a fucking 'D.'" She covered her face.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because a 'D' is shameful!" Tears were streaming down her face. "I was going to tell you, but when I saw that grade, I decided not to. I definitely didn't want to when you told me that you got a damn 'B' on yours!"

"Honey . . . I'm not ashamed. When I was in high school, my average was a 'D.'" I smiled, trying to make her feel better. "Lemme guess, was it the math that killed you?"

"That and the science section. I couldn't understand any of the formulas or the terms or . . . just, none of it made sense."

"Well, can I tell you a secret? The only reason I got a 'B' was because I went to Delhoun for help."

"Isn't that illegal?"

"I think so, but it's too late to do anything now," I laughed. "Come on, don't feel that bad about it."

"Sorry, Drake." Vasquez sighed, and grabbed a napkin to dry her face. "I really am sorry. I'm the one who hasn't been upholding _anything_ in this relationship. I mean, look at how much money you're spending on me. You've been paying for food, for the Metro cards-"

I took her hand. "Sweetheart, please, don't worry about that. That's not the most important thing right now, and it has nothing to do with what we're talking about. We'll worry about money when we come to that road."

She nodded, squeezing my hand.

"Don't cry, OK? I'm not mad. Hopefully, you're not mad. Nobody's mad at each other."

"I know. Again-"

"Don't apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for."

* * *

We both felt drained, emotionally, after having that talk. I'll admit we got off-topic plenty of times, and we constantly apologized for things we didn't do. Basically, there were times where it felt a little awkward, much like a first date.

Speaking of first dates, I hope you're awake and well-energized, because I had the pleasure of sitting and listening to Hudson tell me the story of how his date with Miranda went. Now, I don't have a world-class memory, but this is the large majority of what Hudson told me, paired with my thoughts.

At least the two didn't have any difficulty finding each other; Hudson met up with Miranda at the Crystal City Metro station, and rode the Yellow Line to L'Enfant Plaza, where they had to switch over to the Green Line in order to get to the baseball park. That's a bit of a trip, and it meant a lot of time just sitting. According to Hudson, Miranda was visibly anxious, and trying to maintain her composure. He was glad that I had informed him ahead of time about this, and made an effort to make her feel more comfortable by talking to her.

I've heard all the stories about Hudson failing to land a relationship, but he's not stupid; he knows Miranda isn't a Marine from another unit, or a hooker. She isn't looking for a "one-night stand" or a quick fling. Then again, I don't know if Hudson is mentally capable of maintaining a long-term (and long-distance) serious relationship. He has bragged about things he won't be proud of in ten years, and it gets him laughs and attention from the others in the squad, and entering a serious relationship will cost him that reputation, big-time. If he announces that, he'll be labelled as "soft" or "whipped" or "becoming an old man." Something along those lines. Imagine the dirty stuff that'd be spread about him, too. God only knows if it'll be a joke or not.

Fuck me and my rambling. Anyway, my point was that Hudson had a general idea of who Miranda is and didn't plan on making her feel uncomfortable. His typical "charm" wasn't going to work, although I can see how him being funny might be appealing to Miranda.

When they got to the baseball stadium, Miranda admitted that it would've been better if they had booked tickets ahead of time, which made Hudson feel bad for suggesting this last-minute. He brought up maybe going to a movie, but Miranda said there wasn't anything out that she was interested in, and would rather see the game, even if they got crappy seats. Now, I know Miranda, and she's pretty introverted. A crowded baseball game will make her kind of uncomfortable. This provided a challenge for Hudson, and I think it's a bit too early on for him to be dealing with this because of his lack of experience. Whatever, right? I wasn't there, so what the fuck do I know?

They managed to get in, and were given seats right in the middle area, stuck with the general population. I speak from experience when I say you don't want to sit here. You are nowhere near a bathroom, the guys bringing around food rarely go to you, and you might get stuck with some unpleasant or annoying people. Poor Hudson had to put up with a whiny five-year-old kicking his seat. That is all I need to say.

Despite that, he tried to make the best of his time there. Miranda also took my advice seriously and opened her purse to reveal a package of-you guessed it-Oreos. Not the regular ones, the little ones. They shared the package and had a rather stereotypical romance-movie moment where they were down to one last tiny Oreo. Hudson offered to let Miranda have it. Miranda offered to let Hudson have it. They ended up trying to split it. Have you seen these things? They're kinda hard to split. Whatever, they did it anyway.

Half a snack bag of Oreos didn't satisfy Hudson, so he spent the next twenty minutes trying to summon one of the food guys for a giant pretzel, and a beer. At least he was sweet enough to offer to buy something for Miranda.

They didn't talk all that much for most of the game. At the bottom of the sixth inning, Miranda bravely asked Hudson if he thought they were going to be friends. He said, "Yes," without a second thought. Eventually, the conversation turned to the possibility of them forming a deeper relationship, and Hudson said he was OK with that. The conversation kinda ended there, and it sounded like they were both trying to comprehend what they just got themselves into.

I'm beginning to think that Miranda is watching way too many shitty romance movies, because after a really long silence between them, she tried to slowly move her hand really close to Hudson's until they were touching. Surprisingly, Hudson was alright with that, and gently took Miranda's hand.

They didn't leave immediately when the game ended, mainly because of the crowd. After waiting for the crowd to thin, they headed back to the Metro. Hudson had to get off at L'Enfant Plaza in order to come back to Crystal City, but poor Miranda wanted to stay with him for a few more minutes. To try and end the night on a good impression, Hudson gave her a long hug, and put her back on the train, saying, "So long."

Of course, when he finished telling me this story, Hudson asked if he did a good job. "I don't know," I said. "Does she want to hang out with you again?"

"I think so, yeah. She didn't specify anything, but I get the feeling she wants to hang out again."

I took a moment to think. "Miranda tends to run into things really, really fast. I gave her some advice on slowing down and letting things come more naturally, but . . . I think she might be trying to push this relationship thing a little too hard."

"Jesus, man, I don't wanna say that to her," Hudson replied. "That'll make her feel bad for sure."

"So what? She's not gonna learn if you don't say anything. Stuff like this is kind of important if you really want a successful relationship." I gave Hudson a confused look. "You do want that, right?"

"I honestly don't know, man. I don't even know how I feel 'bout all this. It kinda came outta left field."

"Then a serious relationship isn't right for you. Actually, no romantic relationship is right for you."

"Why?"

"Because you can't take anything seriously. You don't have a grip on your emotions-"

"I got a better grip than you, that's for sure."

"Alright, don't drag my problems into this. Until you can process how you really feel about Miranda and relationships in general, you're not ready for it. Trust me, having little 'flings' aren't going to make you happy, and you're going to regret it in the long run."

"How the fuck would you know?"

I stood up to leave the room. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Come on, man, we're friends. You can tell me."

" _I don't want to talk about it._ Get it through your thick head that there're some things I don't want to talk to you about."

"You used to have flings, too, didn't you?"

I sighed, rubbing my face. _He's not going to learn, is he?_ Still facing the door, I said, "I tried to flirt with a lot of girls when I was in high school. I really regret it, and that's all you need to know."

* * *

Since we didn't have to get up early, the next morning was spent just lying in bed and not doing anything. Part of me felt bad that I had left Hudson alone next door, but I don't think his thoughts are as volatile or destructive as mine. I'm not all that worried; he'll come around to his senses and either figure himself out or admit he can't handle a serious relationship.

I was about to try and go back to sleep when someone knocked on the door. "Who is it?" I called.

"It's Delhoun. Can I come in?"

Sighing, I got out of bed, muttering to myself about why this couldn't wait till later. I even said that when I opened the door.

Calmly, Delhoun replied, "I have to go back to the hospital with Hornby. That's why it can't wait. I also don't know when I'll get a little bit of time off today, so I'd rather do this now."

"What do you need to do now?" I asked.

"I want to know if you're OK. Obviously, we haven't really talked to each other in the last several days, and I've been wondering about your . . . emotional state."

"Right now, it's fine. That'll probably change throughout the day, but for now, it's fine. Vasquez and I are going to put forth a better effort in dealing with our issues."

Delhoun nodded. "Well, I certainly hope you're successful. And, if you need additional help, you know where to find me."

"You're going back to Australia?"

"I have to. I'm not leaving Aran there by himself for very long, nor can I leave Winnie for too long. She'll get separation anxiety and probably piss on my bed. Plus, I bet she misses you as well."

"I don't care."

"Yes, you do. You're just as homesick as any of us."

"I'm not homesick because I don't have a real home."

"Don't get wise with me, Drake. The last thing I'd like to tell you is that Hicks is off-limits today. No visitors."

"Why?"

"He developed a slight fever last night. Nothing that we're all that concerned about, but Hornby wants him to rest and keep replenishing his nutrients."

"Is it from all the fucking tests Hornby's doing?"

"It's possible, yeah. Relax. He's going to be fine."

"And it still stands that we're flying back to Australia tomorrow?"

"Yep. Bet you're all really excited for that."

"We're bursting with excitement, Delhoun. Just bursting."

* * *

Later on, I didn't bother asking Hudson about his thoughts from last night, and he didn't seem to want to talk about it. I figured it was best to leave well enough alone and let him figure things out on his own. Only way he's gonna learn.

Neither him nor Miranda attempted to contact each other during the day, despite the fact that we were running out of time. I guess it was better than them both rushing to try and comprehend everything.

In the meantime, I spent the day doing some crude meditation, trying to dig around my head for things that needed to be attended to. I guess I had been completely honest with Vasquez last night, because nothing was jumping out at me.

I began fantasizing about the future again. That's one of the few things keeping me going. I want to be able to become a civilian again, and live normally. However, I need to achieve redemption first, and I just don't know how to do that. Then again, I could be doing that right now, and I just don't know it. It could be one very long process, rather than a single moment that explodes in your soul. It's probably different for everyone, and it's probably taking a long time for me because I don't have all my damn ducks in a row. All I know is that I'm standing in my own way.

* * *

 _Question: Do you feel Drake is an active or passive protagonist?_

 _Author's Note: I'm asking this because of a recent review of "Boreal Nightmare" I got on AvPGalaxy. The review was very constructive and brought up something I've never considered, which is the fact that in that story, Drake was a passive character. In writing, that means he operates with no goal, no motivation, and has to rely on plot elements to push him forward. Does he fit that description early on, and become more active as the series progresses? Or does he stay a passive protagonist? Could this be a rare case where the passive protagonist works? I personally think Drake is a mixture between an active and passive protagonist. No, he doesn't want to do anything and is easily pushed around by his problems and even other characters. I'll admit he feels a lot more reactive than proactive, but he has his moments where he acts on his own accord. This should be seen by the reader, though, and I'd like to know if I presented that blend, or if I've been writing a passive protagonist this whole time.  
_

 _On a good note, yes, I will be working on a short from Vasquez's perspective. The main reason is that the story will (hopefully) be short and I can get it completed by the beginning of next week. Starting Tuesday, the eighteenth, I will not be active online for two months. Believe me, I'm going to miss this, but I promise I'll return with another entry in this series. Happy reading - Cat._


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